


Zipper Tab

by helico_pter



Series: I shut my eyes and my mouth and my legs just gave out [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - No Ice Skating, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ballet Dancer Yuri Plisetsky, Building a relationship, DJ Otabek Altin, M/M, Oral Sex, Otabek Altin is a Mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:49:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21584056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helico_pter/pseuds/helico_pter
Summary: There's no comfort. Yuri doesn't let him turn away or hide but sets him on fire with his gaze. There's only a minute tremble in Yuri's lips, and Otabek finds himself struggling for words to express himself. He feels like he's been flayed open. By the words, but mostly by that tiny fraction of uncertainty in Yuri's face. He doesn't need much until he needs everything.Otabek still has far to go, but at least he's moving in the right direction.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Otabek Altin & Everyone, Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Series: I shut my eyes and my mouth and my legs just gave out [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1526834
Comments: 80
Kudos: 115





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this was slow and I had trouble with the structure. It's hopefully not too clunky.
> 
> Other than that, thanks for sticking with this story!

Seeing Yuri in a completely unexpected place forces a realisation on Otabek. Yuri's rolling gait is that of a caged animal's. A tiger would be fitting. He doesn't roar, but he looks like he wants to. He hasn't killed anyone, but he looks like he wants to. It's not _easy_. He's tense like a live wire. The AC inside the arrivals lobby moves his fine hair around as though there's a storm loading him with static electricity.

Otabek stops to collect his breath and his scattered self. This is not what he wants. This isn't it, but it's directly overlaid with what he does want. He doesn't want to be the reason why Yuri is so angry.

"Yura," he greets the caged animal, out of breath anyway. He's run out in his faded and ratty gym clothes, bare to his shoulders and knees. "What the fuck?"

"What the fuck yourself," Yuri says, mocking. "You said _visit_. So here I am."

"I didn't think you'd actually do it," Otabek confesses, moving closer because there's other people around, wanting to pass between them. Because there's a tiger right there and he's responsible for it. "I thought I was coming to Moscow again. I thought you were going to Japan."

The closer he goes, the more he sees the strain in Yuri, who's wearing sparkly white shoes and bare ankles, teal sweats and a white shirt. His sunglasses hide half his face.

"You thought wrong. Get over it." Yuri growls. "I've been to Hasetsu plenty of times, never been to Almaty."

"I'm happy?" Otabek says, although the question is apparent to both of them. He worked hard for this, to have Yuri come to him like he used to. But it's still wrong. He can't wipe the tension from Yuri's jaw or his shoulders.

"Are you?" Yuri says. "Can we get the fuck out of the airport now? I'm tired." He stretches, shirt riding up. It makes sparks fly in the back of Otabek's brain; this is exactly what he wants. He grabs the handle of Yuri's luggage on top of his gym back and leads him out. He stops outside, by the cabs.

"Yura," he says again. "I didn't even-" He steps closer and hugs Yuri, feeling him tense up first, then relax and return the hug. He still forgets and misunderstands how much touching means to Yuri. And how much Yuri doesn't ask for it, just gets angrier and angrier. He forgets and misunderstands because the obviousness is so new.

"You didn't even what, asshole?" Yuri murmurs against the side of Otabek's head, a little less caged animal.

"You know I'm fucking useless, right?" Otabek can't let go now that he has Yuri here, smelling like a forest in winter. The public, noisy space limits Otabek to stroking along Yuri's spine and staying strictly above the waist, although the hug is still far from just a friendly one.

"Oh yeah," Yuri confirms with a grunt.

"Welcome to Almaty, Yura. I'm happy you're here," Otabek says and means the entirety of it this time.

Yuri grunts again and pushes Otabek away. "Shut up. I'm _tired_ ," he repeats. "I'm-"

 _Insecure. Uncertain_. It's visible when there's less tension—in the downturned pout and fingers that dance around, touching the sunglasses, the pale hair—and there's less tension because they were hugging. Otabek understands, a little at a time. Yuri, who had so effortlessly soared above him, is coming to ground, needy and furious, like cometfall. This is the person Guāng Hóng had dealt with and Otabek had never seen that spring.

Otabek leaves the words for later and packs his precarious animal-dancer hybrid into a cab to bring him home.

#

Yuri walks into Otabek's flat like he owns it. He stops, cocks his hip, and takes off his sunglasses with a practised sweep. His eyes are red-rimmed and sunken, carrying dark shadows underneath. "I haven't slept in twenty-four hours," he declares.

Otabek drops the luggage and walks into him, scooping him up like a princess, and finds a surprisingly small amount of complaints from Yuri at the action. "Why haven't you slept?" He takes the few steps needed to dump Yuri into his bed, watching him roll bonelessy against a pillow.

"I left right after my last performance," Yuri mutters although he doesn't close his eyes, flicking them around the small flat, the nanoleaf that's arranged into a sideways S, the jade succulent, the speakers, the guitar hanging on the wall. One of van Gogh's sunflower prints has joined the van Dyck poster. "It's like five in the morning in Moscow."

Otabek crawls on him, hands and knees, kissing up a bare arm until he can bury his face in Yuri's neck and spoon him. They've shared Yuri's tiny bed in Moscow enough to make the space on Otabek's bigger bed feel superfluous. Yuri smells like hurry, like a hasty shower and airplanes. There's specks of make-up still clinging to his hairline. His breathing is shallow and fast.

" _Can_ you sleep?" Otabek asks. The amount of tense energy Yuri holds in his body is sickening, like cables at their breaking point. "Yura." He's seen Yuri like this more than once now, between each iteration of music, dancing, food, and sex they go through when he visits Moscow.

"You're a hobo again," Yuri mumbles, quaking like some hummingbird.

"I know how much you like it when I dress like this," Otabek says slowly. It earns him a scoff.

"It's nostalgic, asshole," Yuri says and exhales, giving up some of his tension.

Otabek slips a hand under Yuri's thin shirt and rests it on his concave stomach. "Hungry?"

"Mm, what've you got?"

"A banana. Some figs."

"I'll eat those," Yuri says and Otabek removes himself from the bed, although loathing to do so. He chops up the fruit into a bowl and grabs a bottle of water to go with them. He brings them over and sits next to Yuri, leaning against the wall so he can straighten his legs in front of him.

Yuri doesn't bother sitting up to eat, but does it lying down, hardly opening his eyes. He does turn on his back to drink the water, downing the whole bottle in one go, then tosses it off the bed. He rolls over and puts his head in Otabek's lap, hair fanning out.

Otabek runs his fingers through Yuri's hair, follows the shell of his ear with a fingertip, and strokes along his jawline, finding most of the tension gone. Yuri breathes more evenly, a muscle shivering here and there to dump the stress stored in them. Otabek hasn't asked, and Yuri hasn't told, but he often wonders just how much care-giving Viktor and Yuuri had performed to create the vernal Yuri he'd met in London.

_He's in my bed. He came all this way to sleep in my bed._

Otabek slides down, trying to make it as smooth as possible to not disturb Yuri, but Yuri opens his baleful pair of almost teal eyes and glares until Otabek settles down, his shirt riding up to almost his armpits.

"I just want to-" _Make sure it's real._ He hasn't had Yuri in his bed for years. He kisses Yuri and receives a soft-mouthed response despite the sharp eyes. Yuri's hand is warm on his ribcage.

Sleepy and willing, and in Otabek's bed. In the summer, wearing a white shirt which is almost translucent with the sunlight that seeps in through the blinds. Otabek pushes the shirt up and slides farther down to press his face against Yuri's stomach, the soft fuzz under his navel.

"How do you do this to me?" Otabek mutters, palming Yuri's hipbones. "How do I just want to- Every time." He pulls back and finds Yuri looking towards the window with half-lidded eyes, soft and painfully beautiful in his indolence.

"Do what?" Yuri shifts and then stretches again, and Otabek's insides splash about in a tide of wanting.

"I just want you so fucking much," Otabek confesses and lowers himself back on top of Yuri, face in the side of his neck, a thigh between Yuri's. "Every time I see you."

Yuri's thigh tenses against Otabek's crotch and Otabek rocks against it. Yuri makes the most unattractive noise by yawning and chortling faintly at the same time. "Jesus," he mutters. "Calm down. I'm staying the month."

Otabek sits up. " _The month?_ You know that's _thirty_ fucking days, right?" At least the surprise takes some wind out of his sails by its sheer impossibility. The longest they've existed in the same space has been a week and six out of those seven days Yuri had worked nine to twelve hours.

"Thirty-one," Yuri murmurs. His eyelids are heavy, falling down over and over again. "It's August, asshole."

Otabek rolls off him, putting some distance between them, but Yuri follows to press into his side again. Yuri's breathing is loud, getting deeper, and Otabek has heard that particular cadence often enough, just before Yuri falls asleep.

"Anyway," Yuri mumbles. "My holiday's only four weeks. Twenty-eight days."

Otabek gets up to grab his phone from his gym bag. Yuri protests with a louder huff of breath, hand twitching after him until Otabek lies back down, messaging his brother.

 **O > hes staying the month**  
**O > wtf am i supposed to do**

"I need to go get a lot more food," Otabek says and receives a huff in reply. He hesitates, then leans down and kisses Yuri's temple, feels immediately stupid and pulls away. "Go to sleep."

"Forgot you were shit with surprises," Yuri admits, lashes fluttering against his cheeks, but he obeys and settles down. Not quite touching, but the hem of Otabek's shirt caught between his fingers.

He leeches the stress from Yuri, only to have the coils in his chest cavity, becoming taut with tension like sport suspension. He waits until Yuri is well asleep, face relaxed and body lax, before he gets up and leaves the flat.

He rings Nurbek immediately, walking towards the grocery store. "I can't handle him for a _month!_ " he hisses into the phone. _I'll die from wanting too much._ _He'll kill me for taking too much._ "I've never- What do I do?"

"How should I know?" Nurbek is out of breath and sounds like he's about to laugh. "What're you afraid of?"

" _Him!_ " Otabek stops in the street the breathe. This isn't the workout he expected to have this morning. It was going to be more legs, less nerves. Less sweeping terror and the first bubbles of exhilaration.

"Bring him to dinner with mom and dad," Nurbek says, now actually laughing. "Take him to Kok Tobe. Hey, bring him to see my matches!"

Otabek runs his hand over his face. He'd almost forgot. "And you're leaving."

"Not right now," Nurbek replies. "Probably end of season."

Otabek crouches by the building, leaning his back against the warm wall. "Four months."

He can handle Yuri for a month. He can handle his brother leaving in four months. He can handle deadlines, even when the events they delineate are going to create craters the size of Chicxulub.

"You wanted him to visit, though," Nurbek says.

"I did," Otabek mutters. _Yuri is in my bed._ "I do."

"So bring him to the gym."

"That's... a good idea," Otabek admits. Professional athletes don't just _stop_ on holidays. And he can't stop because he can't afford to get worse. He never contacted the masseuse his physical therapist recommended. "Thanks, Nura. Can you come over around dinner?"

"Not today. Bring him to the gym tomorrow!" Nurbek says and hangs up.

Otabek droops his head between his legs for a while, ignoring the pinpricks on numbness growing in his left leg. _Yuri has seen you worse. You wanted this._

Otabek picks himself up off the street and performs the shopping in a daze. He wants to crawl up to Yuri and sit at his feet and ask him what he's supposed to do. Making decisions leads to consequences, and Otabek is tired of being the cause of anything.

Yuri is still sound asleep when he gets back. He's migrated with the sun, glowing like he's recharging. Otabek puts away the shopping as quietly as possible, and then joins Yuri, not to sleep, just to be close to him. To fingercomb his hair and bury his face in it; to wrap an arm around him and feel him breathe. To understand that he's going to have this for a month. It expands into daylight fireworks in his body, all colours, making the hair on his arms stand on end.

When Yuri awakens to feed, ravenous and dark-eyed, Otabek tries to give him everything he wants and take nothing in return. And Yuri tastes like the apple he finishes his meal with when they kiss, affectionate after the right kind of offerings have been brought to his altar. And from the way Yuri holds him, fingers and teeth digging into him, Otabek suspects he's one of the offerings.

"So what am I doing here?" Yuri asks when he's kissed his fill and left Otabek a wet, unsatisfied mess. On purpose, Otabek knows.

"Watching me work, probably," Otabek says, lying in the snow of Mount Frustration. "Because you didn't tell me you were coming."

Yuri rolls off the bed, stretching every which way as he inspects the small flat. "I never had to do that before."

Otabek acknowledges that with a grunt, and keeps his opinion of the situation being different now unvoiced. He sits up to watch Yuri touch everything, using his hands for most things, but a cautious foot for the beanbag.

"It's become abundantly clear," Yuri says gravely, turning to face Otabek again, "that we know shit about each other."

Yuri doesn't look displeased, but contemplative, eyes darting around whatever landmarks he has on Otabek's face. He can't think of anything he hasn't told Yuri. He can think of everything he doesn't want Yuri to know.

"Do you want to talk?" he asks.

"Yeah, but," Yuri says, coming back to the bed, " _Later._ "


	2. Chapter 2

Otabek dreams of the sound of grinding bones and the nails-on-chalkboard screech of compressed metal. He wakes up time and time again in the hospital, discombobulated, pain searing up his legs and spine. Stress, even positive stress, can set off his nightmares and psychosomatic pain issues. This is what he tells himself when he wakes up, too early to be getting up.

Yuri is pressed far into the corner, away from him, asleep. Does he have nightmares of being alone and hungry? Otabek skates sweat off his skin with the blades of his hands and rubs at the juncture of his left hip. There's a difference, of course, in his nightmares and the ones Yuri might potentially have.

Otabek is _guilty_. He drips guilt from the gaps of the zippers. He's made nothing but bad decisions in the short span of his adult life, he's the cause of all of his problems. Dragging Yuri back into it may be unforgivable.

He gets up. He has to feed Yuri anyway.

The remnants of Yuri's first day in Almaty litter Otabek's space. He steps over the sparkly shoes and the newly bought and abandoned pair of neon green swim trunks. Otabek's expensive headphones have returned to him, but he knows they'll go again when Yuri does. Their brief argument about whether beanbags are furniture doesn't extend to the physical space, but it litters Otabek's mind. Yuri is like clingwrap over his brain.

It doesn't matter. Yuri is in his bed. Bruised from his mouth. He makes omelettes, cream, avocado, and a side of toast. He makes tea, too, because he likes it, and takes all of his pills, including the pain-relieving ones. He leaves a trail of multivitamins for Yuri and goes to wake him before the alarm turns on.

While Yuri eats, Otabek rubs his feet because he sort of wants to. He runs his thumbs over the eyes tattooed there and Yuri kneads with his toes in enjoyment. Otabek has watched him ice his feet every night, knows he wears an ankle brace more often than not, knows there's been stress fractures.

And just a little later they climb into Nurbek's car, Otabek giving Yuri the front seat to meet his brother. He hangs back and watches them stare at each other a while, and wonders if that's what he looks like with Yuri.

"You're real," Nurbek finally says.

Yuri sighs as though this is exactly what he expected. "Same shit, same packaging," he says. "What am I, a Christmas tree?"

_Something like that_ , Otabek thinks. The significance is all Yuri's, but Otabek has seen enough children staring up at Christmas trees, full of awe.

Nurbek gives Yuri another curious, baffled look. "Same packaging?"

Yuri gestures at his face, then Otabek's, then Nurbek's. "Same shit."

Nurbek glances at Otabek and laughs, starting the car. "Got us there. Right, bro?"

Otabek shakes his head, but it's a lost cause. Everyone else thinks they look the same. Even Yuri, who looks over his shoulder at him, scanning his face with surprising detachment, then matching it with Nurbek's.

At the swimming pool, Otabek is the first one in the water. It takes the weight off his leg, literally, but he floats by the edge of the pool, arms crossed on the edge of it, listening to his brother and Yuri.

"Dude, you are _ripped_ ," Nurbek says, stepping back to look up and down Yuri.

"Thanks," Yuri says, looking down at himself, then at Nurbek. "You're not so bad, either."

Otabek pushes away and swims a lap to dissipate the shock of being jealous of his brother. Envious, always yes, but jealous never before. Jealous and worried that Yuri might see what he does, the better version of him. He circles back when the shock has lessened, and finds them comparing injuries on their feet.

"Illegal tackle," Nurbek is saying, pointing at a line of dark bruises along his side. "How'd you get those?" He points at the much lighter marks on Yuri's shoulders and thighs, and Otabek has a much more pleasant, dark shock of possessiveness.

"These are from Beka," Yuri says matter-of-factly and glances down at Otabek in the pool. His expression has the slightest smug tinge, under what can only be the pleasure of showing off. Otabek wants to drag him to the nearest semi-private spot to add to the bruises.

"Oh," Nurbek says. "Oh no." He looks at Otabek, too, and turns on his heel to walk into the pool instead of continuing the conversation. Yuri snorts and doesn't bother going for the ladder. He lowers himself onto the edge next to Otabek and slips into the water.

"I think I made little brother sick," Yuri says, knocking his elbow against Otabek's on the edge of the pool. Otabek forgets about the cool lapping of the water and the echo of people swimming around them.

"Well, you are sickeningly ripped and shameless," Otabek murmurs, mouth barely above the waterline. Yuri chortles, which echoes even louder, and pushes away from the edge. Of course he is as smooth in the water as he is on stage.

Afterwards he further disturbs Nurbek by joining them at the gym to stretch. Nurbek doesn't need much more flexibility than he already has, and Otabek has lost almost all that he ever had when he danced. It pulls on his muscles and tendons to achieve proper form with just a ninety degree leg raise.

Yuri doesn't even look at them when he folds himself forwards, wrapping his arms around his legs, then comes up again and slowly, with no discernible sign of strain, lifts his right leg up alongside his torso, reaching up to hold his heel with his hand. He repeats the same for the left side. He bends backwards and forwards and side to side, bringing his arms and legs into positions Otabek has only dreamed of.

"Dude, are you a terminator?" Nurbek asks, with a slight breathless, upset edge to his voice.

Yuri snorts, going into first position by habit. "Pathetic," he says to them and comes over to Otabek, eyeing him critically. "What's this? Huh? Did you really train at Vaganova?"

Otabek succumbs to the prodding and correcting of his form, comforted by the familiarity and excited by Yuri. He physically can't reach the standards Yuri holds, but for a little while he pretends he can still dance, and lives for whatever soft scoffs of praise that might leave Yuri's lips. And later, when Yuri comes on his face, it feels like praise, too.

#

Afterwards they take a lunch outside. Otabek catches Yuri's gaze bouncing between him and Nurbek, while his little brother explains the rules of football, animated and excited about his favourite thing. When Yuri does it again, Otabek touches his arm and tilts his head, hoping to convey his question.

"Don't worry." Yuri's mouth is crooked, not quite a smile. "You're nothing alike."

"Hey," Nurbek says. "I'm in the middle of the best part here!"

"I understood the offside rule the first time you explained it," Yuri tells him. "I'm just so fucking bored I'm falling asleep." He proves his point by yawning and leaning towards Otabek's shoulder in an exaggerated manner. "Keep talking, I'm gonna nap."

Nurbek throws his napkin onto his plate and leans back with his arms crossed. "Are you an ass just on your free time or all the time?"

"All the time," Otabek murmurs, which earns him a scoff from Yuri as he yanks his head back up.

"I'm ready to do something fun now," Yuri grunts.

The lunch is given up on and Nurbek drives them back, playing music so loudly there's no space for conversation. Otabek is just as glad about that as he is about getting back home. Having Yuri and his brother meet had given him an undue amount of stress, and having it be over is making him ready to go back to bed. Yuri doesn't share this view, and having been given the keys to the kingdom, fills the flat with music from Otabek's laptop.

Something unsatisfied persists in Yuri. Rather than ask and risk being snapped at, Otabek waits, replying to some of JJ's messages and posts. There's still almost daily updates about Victoire, and Otabek is slightly worried JJ will never stop. Isabella is still the calmer one, and the one Otabek wishes was his parent, too. Surprisingly, Yuri hasn't posted about coming to Almaty. Otabek finds himself looking at Yuri's selfies even though the real thing is in the room with him.

"You owe me," the real thing says out of nowhere. He's sitting in the desk chair and uses his long leg to prod at Otabek. "For coming here. For everything, actually."

Otabek catches the offending foot with his hand before dragging his eyes away from his phone. "Yep," he says, stroking the instep with his thumb.

Yuri inhales, nostrils flaring. "I want to go on a roadtrip."

It isn't what Otabek expected, and Yuri yanks his foot away as his grip loosens. "I sold-" Otabek starts.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Yuri interrupts him and leaps off the chair. He lands on top of Otabek, straddling his lap. "Rent a bike. Steal one. I don't fucking care. You're taking me on a roadtrip."

"No," Otabek says, but lets Yuri assert his dominance by pushing him down and grasping his hair.

" _I want to go_ ," Yuri says, glaring at him from an inch away, bracing on his free hand on the mattress by Otabek's head. "I'll feed you fucking painkillers and suck your dick or whatever you want to keep you on the bike."

They enter a staring contest. "If you'd told me about this plan-" Otabek says, although the hair-pulling and promises of dick-sucking are steering his thoughts far astray.

"You would've found a way to say no!" Yuri finishes.

"Yeah, I would've," Otabek agrees. "Is it better to spring it on me last second?"

"I want to go! Make it happen," Yuri says, sticking his chin out childishly.

Otabek swallows his argument and his frustration, looking at Yuri. His lips are tight over his teeth and his thighs are trembling against Otabek's, furiously tense. _It's not about the roadtrip_. _For either of us_. And what's Otabek got to lose, after all? As if pain is something he's ever denied himself. "Okay," he says softly.

"Ha!" Yuri says, instantly triumphant and boundless. He kisses Otabek to accompany the grip on his hair, eating up all possibility of further objections. Otabek rests his thumbs in the waistband of Yuri's teal skinny sweats, weighing them down a little but making no demand.

"Beka," Yuri says when he pulls away, licking his already spit-shiny lips. "I'm gonna need so much sun lotion."

Otabek finds his head bobbing in agreement even as his mouth goes dry. He knows the colour of Yuri's inner arms is the same as his inner thighs. He knows those spots stay pale even if he tans. He knows Yuri can feel him get hard in almost one surge.

"Where do you want to go?" he asks as if he's in possession of his faculties.

Yuri snorts and shifts on him, petting his hair now instead of gripping it. "You're the local," he says, proving that Otabek is not in possession of anything. "You figure it out."

#

One of the first things Otabek does is take Yuri shopping for food. Yuri groans and whines about it, but settles, probably because he realises who's in charge of cooking and feeding him.

"But why do I have to come?" He still pouts.

"I don't know what you like." Otabek thinks it's as simple as that.

"I like _food_ ," Yuri says, perfectly reasonable as well.

"But," Otabek says. "What _kind_ of food?" He's fighting a losing battle already. Yuri is looking around the fresh produce like he's never seen bell peppers or broccoli or apples in his life. "What do you eat at home?"

"I eat at work. Whatever they have." Yuri shrugs and starts picking things up, going by colour for all Otabek knows.

Otabek can't really blame him. He used to be as bad. Only his new interest in cooking for Yuri, specifically, has made him more interested in the foodstuffs he puts in his mouth. And he remembers Yuri's kitchen cabinets and the dismal state of the fridge the first time he saw them in Moscow. It suddenly makes sense that Yuri had stored lube in the kitchen in London.

Has Yuri ever been grocery shopping? Otabek is beginning to have his doubts. "Just pick whatever you like," he says.

Midway through Otabek fetches a trolley to replace the basket he had originally picked. It's always been more than enough for his food shopping.

"I used to go shopping with grandpa," Yuri says, weighing two packets of raisins in his hand, different brands, then chucks them both into the trolley. "But he never let me have what I wanted. And anyway, then I went to Vaganova." He sniffs, sunglasses precariously teetering above his eyebrows.

It's surprising that Yuri has clearly never learned self-sufficiency when it comes to feeding himself. He's food-motivated, but in a way that conflates food with love. Otabek considers the idea at length while he trails Yuri back and forth.

"I like piroshki," Yuri says by the dairy shelf. "And cake."

Otabek now knows better than to ask what kind of cake. "When was the last time you had piroshki?" he asks instead.

"When I turned sixteen," Yuri says, picking up cream and milk and sour milk and kefir.

"You said you know how to make them."

"I do, but I don't want to make them."

Otabek leaves it at that. They're never going to eat all this food, but he's also never going to tell Yuri that. Not when he gets to watch the curious expressions and fiddly hands go through all the vegetable oils as though he's never been aware of the variety.

"What kind of food do _you_ like?" Yuri asks, comparing a packet of horse meat and mutton.

"I… don't know," Otabek says slowly, realising just that.

"Oh, wow." Yuri sneers. "You patronising asshole. I don't know and that's weird? But you don't know either!"

Otabek can't name the difference although he knows there is one, so he submits to Yuri's derision. He's already seen Yuri devour a whole stew he forgot to season because he was too smitten with watching Yuri unpack, so he's not sure Yuri has any leg to stand on, but maybe that does put them on the same level when it comes to food. With the slight separation of Otabek having an interest because of who he cooks _for_ , and Yuri enjoying it because someone cooks for _him_.


	3. Chapter 3

The air pressure in Otabek's flat has changed. There's no other explanation for the constant sense of weight surrounding him, like he's still underwater. It persists thanks to the lack of air-conditioning and the early August heat, and Yuri on his back on the bed, knees splayed, reading a book with Japanese characters on its cover.

Otabek spins on his chair, headphones on, listening to his most recent mix, wondering how to incorporate the local boyband as requested. He doesn't have that many "office" days with the media team, and only the occasional studio day. Most of his work is easily doable from home. Usually easily doable. Not when every spin lets his eyes sweep across a sun-warmed Yuri.

Otabek already knows he will quit the day his brother leaves, if not sooner. Not because it's a bad job, but because he, too, will leave. He spins and picks up the jaw harp off his desk, mimicking what he hears in the mix. When he comes round again, Yuri is sitting up, looking at him, and the next spin stops because Yuri boxes him in with his arms.

Yuri pushes his headphones off with no remorse. "What are you doing?" he asks.

"Working," Otabek says, although it's everything but. _Pretending to work while enjoying the sight of you._ _Waiting for you to eviscerate me._

Yuri picks the jaw harp from his hand. "I mean this."

Otabek takes it back and lifts it to his mouth, making it twang with his finger. "I told you I could play it." Yuri must be bored. "You've never heard a jaw harp?"

"No," Yuri huffs, leaning closer. "It sounds stupid."

Otabek plays a little more out of spite, and out of the enjoyment of being the focus of Yuri's attention. But Yuri snarls and sends his chair spinning again, and Otabek doesn't bother stopping it. When he slows down he pauses the music and closes his laptop, giving up. Another deadline he has to follow.

It is still a singularly pleasurable thing to be caught in whatever mutual fascination they have with each other, and Otabek follows his need to indulge in it by getting into his bed after Yuri. The air is heavy there, too. Otabek presses his face into Yuri's side, trying not to bother his book.

"You can read Japanese?"

"Kinda." Yuri rests the edge of his paperback on top of Otabek's head. "This is _Majo no Takkyūbin_ ," he says as if it should mean something to Otabek. "Yuuri told me to try it. There's a cat."

Otabek doesn't even own a bookshelf. He remembers the one in Yuri's room in London, filled with books, and the boxes filled with more books in Moscow. Still, he'd never seen Yuri actually read anything that wasn't a phone screen. "You talk to them again?"

"Yeah..." Yuri sighs, letting the book slip down. "Shit, I should tell them I'm here."

It's only been a few days. Despite Otabek's initial worry, he doesn't hate it at all. Yuri is nothing like sand between his teeth, even if he is the cause of Otabek's nightmares. He breathes in the supercharged air around Yuri, the scent of grapefruit and mint, and a hint of chlorine.

Yuri reaches for his phone from under the pillow, not dislodging Otabek. "I told them I'd go to Hasetsu later, but." He runs his fingers through Otabek's hair. "Guess not."

"Guess not," Otabek echoes in awe.

"Put on your mean face, Beka," Yuri instructs him, setting up facetime on his phone. "London's six hours behind, yeah? Whatever."

It makes the local time in London around 7am, but Viktor picks up anyway. Otabek can't see the screen from his position under Yuri's arm, but that's probably just as well. He doesn't think he's gained any popularity in that household.

"Yurashka!" Viktor greets Yuri with surprise and delight in his voice.

"Is Yuuri there?" Yuri asks, ignoring him. Otabek has suspected for some time that Yuuri's the favourite.

"He's right here. Darling?" Viktor speaks away from the microphone, using Japanese, and Otabek can only tell he says _Yurashka_ again. Yuuri's voice comes in, also speaking Japanese. A greeting from the sound of it, including _Yurio_ , which Otabek understands—whether correctly or not—as a Japanese version of _Yura_.

"Don't call me that, Katsudon," Yuri says in Russian, probably to Otabek's benefit. His nose is scrunched up in annoyance. "I'm not coming to Hasetsu," he adds immediately.

"Why not? Isn't the Bolshoi closed all August?" Viktor asks. "We can stop over in Moscow for a while."

"Yeah, but I already decided to go elsewhere."

"A shame," Yuuri says in English, sounding earnest. "Where did you go? Saint Petersburg? We can come there, as well."

Yuri shifts down, bringing the phone with him. Otabek is suddenly aware of his face appearing in the little preview window. "Surprise," Yuri says.

"Yurio, no!" Yuuri gasps immediately, bringing his hands up to his mouth, either in shock over the reveal or in shock over being impolite. Viktor's reaction is far more subtle, and he slings an arm around Yuuri's shoulders, squeezing him closer. Otabek feels like he should apologise and tell them he's a helpless, useless mockery of a person and he can't let go.

"I see," Viktor says. "You're in..."

"Almaty," Otabek says when Yuri nudges him. "Hi."

"Turns out Beka's really bad at breaking up, too, like everything else, so yeah, I'm spending my summer holiday with my boyfriend," Yuri says very quickly. "In Almaty, Kazakhstan, where he lives."

Otabek cracks like glass under the pressure of a single word.

"That sounds lovely," Viktor says, voice heavy. "Doesn't it, Yuuri? Almaty, this time of year, just _lovel_ _y_. With your _boyfriend._ "

"Shove it up your ass, Vitya," Yuri says, but he isn't as sharp as he could be. "Are you saying I _shouldn't_ forgive people? That's pretty shitty coming from you."

Otabek holds himself together through sheer willpower, staring past the phone Yuri is holding aloft. He doesn't need to see Viktor and Yuuri's expressions to experience the disapproval and outright hostility. He doesn't need to be reminded how badly he's done, but he does enjoy Yuri reminding them they've not been stellar either.

"Our situation was completely different," Viktor says, but he's taken aback.

"Fuck you, it wasn't," Yuri insists. His free hand is in Otabek's hair, pulling at it slightly, fingers tense. Otabek focuses on Yuuri's face, unhappy but softer, considerate almost.

"Please, Yuri," Yuuri says. "Perhaps you and... You could both come to Hasetsu, yes? There's enough room."

Viktor's face crumples like a napkin. "Yuuri, darling," he says. "Are you sure?"

"Ugh, no, thanks," Yuri says. "I'm staying here this time. I just wanted to let you know where I am."

"And with whom," Viktor mutters rebelliously.

Yuuri ignores the exchange and even meets Otabek's eyes once. "You're always welcome home, Yuri. Any time. No matter what happens. Even if it's with..." He trails off, unhappy again.

"Yeah, yeah," Yuri says. "I know. Thanks, Yuuri. I'll talk to you later. Bye!" he says, ending the call in a hurry. Otabek lifts his hand in a late signal of goodbye. "Idiots." Yuri drops his phone. "I was trying to be nice."

"They worry." _For a reason._ Otabek pats Yuri's stomach. "Your boyfriend. That's something to talk about."

The pressure at the bottom of the ocean is nothing to the pressure in Otabek's flat. It tingles along Otabek's skin, forcing him into shape, making his hair stand on end when Yuri huffs and snorts, throwing his arm across his eyes. He'd claimed Otabek as if it was nothing. In front of his family.

"What the fuck was I supposed to call you?" Yuri challenges, as if that's the meat of the issue. He's moved on from letting Otabek know what he wants, and just takes it instead.

"No, it was fine," Otabek says. "I'm surprised you'd want to call me that," he elaborates carefully.

Yuri sits up, dislodging him. He's between Otabek and the window and becomes backlit by the sun. The shirt on him becomes nothing but spiderweb, letting the lines of his body into sight, and having a window that faces south makes perfect sense when the sun is there to illuminate Yuri. It's so much better than shadows and red LEDs, or sodium streetlamps and twilight, or strobe lights and darkness. Of course Otabek's happy: he's got what he wants. Right there, sun-drenched.

It fills Otabek, not like a flashflood, but unrelenting and slow like seas are filled. In these moments there is nothing he wouldn't give to Yuri. A month with this won't hurt at all. _I've seen you shake rain and snow off your coat. I'm going to see you follow the sun._

"Asshole," Yuri says as if it's his actual name. Otabek sits up, too, raking his fingers through his hair. It's getting longer than he likes, but it's immaterial when Yuri reaches over to twist it to the side. "I'm amazing at forgiveness. All I do is forgive shit. Like your fucking lack of fashion sense. Like the fact that I don't even know when your birthday is."

Of course. They've known each other only for springtimes. "October 31st," Otabek says, squinting against the sun. It's amazing that Yuri is willing to forgive. How anyone can hold that much grace is beyond Otabek, and it frightens him.

Yuri skews his body one way, then the other, thinking. "How old are you?"

"24," Otabek answers. "I never-"

"You never told me," Yuri affirms.

"You never asked," Otabek murmurs.

"All right, asshole," Yuri snorts. He makes as if to punch Otabek, but slowly, and his knuckles just graze along Otabek's jaw, caressing. "Hey, pretty boy. When am I gonna meet _your_ parents?"

There's a rational response to that, but it's out of Otabek's reach. The pressure is immense, squeezing him so hard his heart can barely beat, or his lungs expand. A twinge of pain reminds him of just how many discrete parts he's made of, attempting to work together. Shards of glass between his joints.

"You want to meet them?" he croaks when his tongue remembers Russian. Yuri had screamed the opposite at him just a few months ago.

Yuri cups his jaw, long fingers laying flat against the side of his head. "I want you to want to introduce me."

Otabek works through the instruction and nods into Yuri's hand. He doesn't want to lean into it too much. Fear and silence might as well be the names of his lungs for how much they're a part of him.

"'Cause I don't want to be something you're ashamed of."

It jolts Otabek's head up. He lifts his hands and catches Yuri's hand between them. "I'm not ashamed of _yo_ _u_ ," he says. "No, I- It's me." He can't see Yuri's expression clearly from the brightness, but he sees the frown and the flash of teeth as Yuri makes a face.

"Fucking why?"

"Do you want a list?" Otabek has the list. He runs through it almost daily.

Yuri pulls his hand away, but only so he can grasp Otabek's arm and draw the nails of his bunched up fingers up and down the tattooed zipper. "Zip it, Beka," he says, amused by his own pun.

Otabek groans and falls forwards, planting his face in Yuri's lap. "Why is everything so easy for you?"

"Literally nothing in my life has been easy." Yuri growls and hauls Otabek back up by his hair. "Don't you fucking dare go there." Otabek hangs his head, which creates more of a sting on his scalp, until Yuri lets go. His amusement has turned sour and Otabek wants to go back down to apologise with his mouth, just not by using words since it's so easy to fuck up with them.

"Yura," he says. _I should explain._ _We can talk_.

"You know what? Take off your shirt." Yuri snaps at the hem of Otabek's sleeveless top with his fingers.

Otabek's hands obey the command before his consciousness catches on. Yuri directs him around by his shoulders, to sit facing away.

"I'm gonna zip it for you," Yuri says, fingers touching low on Otabek's back, where the tattoo starts. "'Cause sometimes you fucking need to be put back in."

Otabek droops his head, looks at his hands in his lap, fingers twitching at every vertebrae Yuri crosses, and gooseflesh blooming across his arms and stomach. His skin tightens across his chest, nipples getting hard by the time Yuri's fingers are just below his shoulderblades, as if Yuri was really pulling the zipper of a skintight suit around him.

By the time Yuri reaches the top, he's moved close enough for Otabek to feel his breath against the back of his neck before Yuri places a kiss there. Otabek shivers and stares down at his lap, past his hands at the hard-on that's forming.

"Want me to do the others?" Yuri asks, rubbing against the undercut.

"Yep," Otabek says, broken up, almost voiceless, craving it now that he knows it's possible.

Yuri presses against his back, knees on either side of him, and sets his chin on Otabek's shoulder. He brings his arms around and picks up one of Otabek's arms, slowly dragging his fingers up the tattoo again.

Otabek laughs. Or sobs. It's uncertain. And Yuri repeats the action for his other arm, kissing the side of his neck. Then Yuri splays his hands over Otabek's chest and pushes them down over his skin, down to the next zipper across his abdomen. He's very slow with this one, using the edge of a blunt nail to draw the line, hissing into Otabek's ear, making him shiver uncontrollably.

Otabek's hands no longer just rest in his lap, they cling to the cloth of his sweats in fists. He isn't quite panting, or crying, but he isn't far from it. It's like being stitched back together, but without pain.

"Beka," Yuri says, covering Otabek's hands with his own. "You should go to therapy."

Otabek inhales sharply, exhales slowly. "And you shouldn't?" he deflects. His voice comes out very hoarse, as if Yuri's already fucked his throat.

"I don't carry around a shame list," Yuri points out.

 _Just a_ _literal list of the dead carved on your skin._ Otabek tilts his head back against Yuri's shoulder, and Yuri's hand comes up along his front, settling lightly around his throat.

"I don't need zippers to keep me together," Yuri continues.

"You need people," Otabek says softly.

"Everybody needs people."

"You need to be loved."

"Everybody needs to be loved!" Yuri scoffs.

It's like Mount Everest in a teacup. So much compressed into such a small space. Otabek takes Yuri's hand away from his throat and turns enough to see his face. Yuri's expression is angry with gritted teeth, and insecure with drawn-together brows. It surprises Otabek because his hold had been so gentle.

"Sure," he says. _You came all this way._ "You need food."

" _Everybody_ needs food, genius." Yuri becomes a scowl, and his shoulders dance up and down until Otabek weighs them down with his hands and gives the pouty lips a nuzzle.

"Grilled cheese and French toast okay?" Otabek asks.

"Okay," Yuri grunts and slams himself down on the bed, right in the sunspot, where he curls up and watches Otabek portion and make the food.

Otabek keeps his eyes on his hands and doesn't give in to the temptation to look at the smouldering, starving thing on his bed, no matter the air pressure. They eat on the bed, with Yuri feeding some of the fresh fruit Otabek cut up to go with the French toast to Otabek from his lips. Afterwards Yuri is sticky with fruit sugar and juice.

"I hope you didn't do this with Yuuri," Otabek murmurs. Yuri laughs, and Otabek gives in to his own need. "Can you finish my zippers?"

Yuri snorts with relief. "Okay, creep. Get your pants off."

It's a different kind of completion, and Yuri finishes Otabek with his mouth. He drags his lips and tongue up his calf, pauses at the mass of scars at his knee, then continues up Otabek's thigh to his hip. He pauses again, but to bite and bruise and make indecently smug noises when Otabek covers his face with his hands and muffles himself. In the end Otabek isn't sure if he'd enjoyed the zipping up or the blowjob that followed better. In the end he's owned and possessed and unable to breathe from the pressure that must be several atmospheres in magnitude by the time Yuri is done with him.


	4. Chapter 4

Inspecting various motorbikes for rent gives Otabek the excuse update his Instagram again. Not the bikes he intends to rent, but the others in the shops they visit. He photographs many gleaming machines and talks to the owners and fiddles with the things he's allowed to touch.

"I only wish you liked me as much as you like those bikes," Yuri says after the third shop.

Otabek reaches over and squeezes his hand, but doesn't look up from his phone. There'd been some beautiful Triumph bikes in the last one—both his and Leo's favourite brand—and he's uploading the pictures he's taken into his DM thread with Leo. Yuri pulls his hand away.

"You don't even take pictures of me!" Yuri protests. "I guess I'm here just to facilitate you getting back together with your true love."

Otabek catches his hand again, but this time Yuri both pulls away and then shoves at Otabek. "You wanted this," Otabek murmurs, unbothered and a little amused at Yuri's tantrum.

"Oh my God," Yuri growls. "I wanted to spend time with you, not third wheel on your date with a bike!"

Otabek slips his phone into his pocket and finally takes in Yuri's sneer. Or what's visible of it under his giant sunglasses. It's a particularly hot day and Yuri's hair is in a sloppy twist on top of his head, leaving all of his neck and the tiger behind his ear visible. In many ways Yuri is very much alike the bikes. Beautiful engines, chrome and coiled steel, needing care and experience to work.

"The first thing you wanted from me was to go on a ride on my bike," Otabek says. The heat of summer can't fade the memory of that sunless London October, the tiger-striped eighteen-year-old Yuri he'd met. Not all the heat in Otabek is from the outside.

"It was a nice fucking bike," Yuri says and Otabek can do nothing but agree. It'd been a good bike, but ruined by him, much like everything else in his life.

Although being gay is the source of all of Otabek's problems, it's not the thing he regrets. Not anymore. He used to, which where it all began. He regrets other things now. Like not taking a picture of Yuri on his touring bike that day, or any of the following days.

"I could buy a new one," Otabek says, realising that it's what he wants and what he's missed. Riding a bike, yes, but also working on one. A sense of freedom.

Yuri stretches his arms up and rests them on top of his head. "Big enough for two."

"Yeah," Otabek agrees, watching Yuri from the corner of his eye. He'd been the one cover all of Yuri in sun lotion before they'd set out today. So Yuri could wear a tanktop and pull his skinny teal sweats up to his knees, and be as bare as he can.

"Good. Do that," Yuri sniffs.

"Just one more stop for today," Otabek says and Yuri makes a face.

Otabek has already decided to rent a bike from the second place they'd visited, but he doesn't share that with Yuri. He wants to see more bikes, and he wants to be out with Yuri. Otabek is fine with being selfish.

Yuri is placated with a cold drink and getting to sit-test the bikes at the last shop. Otabek doesn't makes sure not to miss the opportunity this time and photographs both the bikes and Yuri, up to the point where Yuri poses too intimately with them and Otabek has to escort him out or risk public indecency.

#

Otabek's phone rings just as Yuri turns the shower on, as though the god of coincidence has blessed the interaction. The person is initially unfamiliar because he's in an unfamiliar context, but becomes Katsuki Yuuri when Otabek's brain catches up.

"What do you want?" Otabek says, holding his phone up, but not taking much care to aim it at his face.

"Um," Yuuri says. "I'm sorry. Is this a bad time?" His English is always so careful and has an odd tempo inherited from his native Japanese.

"No," Otabek grunts. "Just… What do you want?" He wonders if his English comes off as extra blunt like Yuri's did because of the Russian roots.

"I want you to know that the invitation I made yesterday was real," Yuuri says hurriedly. "I did not make it to appease Yuri. I meant it."

_Really?_ Otabek almost says it. "Mm," he voices for Yuuri's benefit.

"I want him to know he is always welcome. Whatever, or whomever he chooses. And we don't hate you, Otabek. Ah. Viktor might hate you a little bit." Yuuri holds up his hand, thumb and forefinger a tiny bit apart. "This much." The sleeves of his massive cable-knit jumper hide his hands almost completely. Otabek hasn't seen Yuri wear those things since London.

"Why tell me?" Otabek says because he can't convey that with a frown even though he wants to.

"Because you are in the position to convince him, yes?" Yuuri presses. "Maybe he thinks he can't have both of us, do you think? He doesn't need much until he needs _everything_." He pauses to stress the point. "And I would like to be there. Viktor, too, of course," he adds loyally. "Viktor feels so responsible because he was-"

"I know," Otabek interrupts him. "Tell Vik-"

"He blames himself for letting you break up with Yurio," Yuuri cuts him off as well, staring at him sadly. "And Yuri didn't…" He trails off and plays with the sleeves of his shirt. "It was so very bad, Otabek. So. We're thankful you told us to go to Moscow, but we also remember that day."

Otabek nods. He also remembers.

"I think we have seen the worst of you," Yuuri continues earnestly. "But you've also seen the worst of us, yes?

"Okay," Otabek says. The shower is still on. "Is that all?"

Yuuri sighs into the collar of his white jumper. Otabek wonders if Yuri gets his aesthetics from him or Viktor. "Scars can be precious," he says. "Sometimes the things we are able to fix become better. I hope this is true for you and Yuri. I hope you are fixing him with gold, yes?"

Otabek doesn't know what he means, and doesn't want to ask. He doesn't want to be told again how much he isn't enough for someone like Yuri. That his coincidences, silences, and fears weigh too much in the balance.

"One thing I don't understand," Yuuri continues. "If you can explain. We told you Yuri was very special, why did you still do what you did?"

_Because when you told me he was special, you also told me I wasn't_.

The shower stops. Yuuri's worried, slightly pained and beseeching eyes dig into him uncomfortably. "You left me no choice," he says and thumbs away the video conversation just as Yuri strides out of the bathroom, dripping water like a modern, young _su ata_ , wet skin reflecting the green of the nanoleaf's cool colour cycle and the gold of the setting sun.

Yuri finishes towelling himself dry and clips his hair up on top of his head. There's always music when Otabek is awake and Yuri turns it up, entirely unbothered in his nudity as he rubs a cream that smells faintly of sweet milk into his face and neck and shoulders.

"Catch." He tosses the bottle to Otabek. The unspoken _use it_ is communicated with a look instead and Otabek does so, slowly, mostly watching Yuri continue his regime. As if Yuri's skin is anything but soft and perfect from the time he already spends on taking care of it.

Otabek finds that kind of practical vanity fascinating. Yuri had arrived with a single bag, missing things like tooth and hairbrushes, but the amount of products in Otabek's already cramped bathroom has quadrupled. Hairclips and ties have appeared on the fringes of his life. He lifts blond hairs off his black clothes daily. Yuri had been so good at not leaving physical traces before, but the scars he'd left inside Otabek more than made up for it.

"So you just hang out with footballers now, huh?" Yuri asks, making sure the lotion is properly dispersed onto his skin before he puts on clothes. "Watch them kick around a ball and then play at their parties? Oh my fucking God."

Otabek shrugs a little. It's just how his life has worked out. "You dress up in tights and prance around a stage for a living."

"Ha!" Yuri flicks him the finger. "You'd be doing the same if you could."

"Cruel," Otabek murmurs and drops the bottle of lotion, but only so he can get his hands on Yuri, who's turned from a water spirit into a sun god. Irresistible and temperamental and incredibly cross when the sacrifices don't please him, like any deity.

Yuri presses his thumb into the tiger tattoo on Otabek's chest like it's a fingerprint scanner, and for all that it does to Otabek, it might as well be. Then Yuri already has his phone out and is aiming it at them both, to commemorate yet another completely normal thing people do, but at which they're only now arriving.

"Beka, look up at fucking the camera," Yuri grouses when Otabek tilts his face down instead, resting it against Yuri's shoulder. "And flex a little."

"Flex what?" Otabek mutters. He's shirtless, too, so he has a fair idea, but he doesn't want to be easy.

"Whatever you got," Yuri says, looking at him through the phone he's holding up.

Otabek makes an unnecessary noise in response and looks up, although he looks at Yuri instead of the camera, and stands up straighter, tensing his shoulders and arms.

"You look so good, Beka," Yuri whispers just as the shutter sound comes, and the pictures document the rise of a blush onto Otabek's cheeks. Yuri always says like he means it.

"I'm gonna tag you as my boyfriend," Yuri lets him know, typing so fast his thumbs are a blur.

Otabek is still holding him around the waist, smelling skin and moisturiser and limes, watching him post with a flurry of tags. "Do you still have JJ blocked?" Otabek asks, feeling unfairly queasy about the whole thing.

"Think so," Yuri mutters, tilting the screen towards him so he can see what exactly is being uploaded. "Haven't fucking given that idiot any thought since two years ago. Thanks for reminding me."

Otabek gives an unenthusiastic thumbs-up. He doesn't want JJ to see this. Or Leo. Or anyone. It's too private. They already know, isn't that enough? They don't need to see it, too. "Are you sure you want this public?" he asks on a dry throat, flushed for a very different reason now.

" _Yes,_ " Yuri says, moving his attention from the phone to Otabek. "It's too late to back out, Beka. Hey, look at me."

Yuri's face is uncharacteristically serious and focused, capturing Otabek like an open flame.

"You know what I thought was gonna happen two years ago?" Yuri says. "I thought you'd go on your stupid roadtrip, miss me like crazy, and turn back immediately. But you cut your hair and you cut me out and fucking dumped me in front of Viktor and Yuuri." He palms the side of Otabek's head, keeping him there, too close, too ashamed, but also too helpless to disobey. "And then you fucking showed up again, right? Remember that? You were sorry, remember? You kissed me and you fucked me and cooked for me and I'm done. I want something _real_. If you can't stand making it public, or being an actual fucking boyfriend like you fucking _promised_ , I think I'm better off leaving right the fuck now."

There's no comfort. Yuri doesn't let him turn away or hide but sets him on fire with his gaze. There's only a minute tremble in Yuri's lips, and Otabek finds himself struggling for words to express himself. He feels like he's been flayed open. By the words, but mostly by that tiny fraction of uncertainty in Yuri's face. _He doesn't need much until he needs everything_.

"Yura," Otabek says, tilting his face into Yuri's hand, forcing himself to relax. "I want to be with you," he speaks slowly, listening to himself to make sure the words come out right. "That isn't why I-" The clarity is already slipping away.

Yuri, still surprisingly sober and patient, shifts his hand and draws his thumb over Otabek's eyebrow. The caress is enough for Otabek to know Yuri is receptive.

"It's the being public on Instagram part I don't like. Letting people in," Otabek finishes, giving up on communication for now. It was so much easier when he could just say _no_ and be emotionally unavailable. When he wasn't tying himself into knots over Yuri. For those brief few months after the photo exhibit when they were just a collection of possibilities and coincidences and nothing more.

"Okay," Yuri says and lets go of him and the subject. "So you're not playing at this party?"

"Mm." Otabek nods, slumping onto the edge of his bed, feeling like his other knee had just been crushed in an Instagram accident. _I wanted this_.

"Too bad," Yuri says, mowing through his clothes, hanging pieces in every colour onto the chair and laying them on the bed next to Otabek. "I wanna dance. Is the music gonna be something I can dance to?"

Is there music that Yuri _can't_ dance to? He's a neutron star, a celestial ballet dancer, spinning around too many times a second. "You'll be fine," Otabek promises. _I'll be fine_ , he lies.

The end is always there. Otabek has always been able to see it in the horizon, like the Trans Ili-Alatau. The difference is that while the mountain range can be beautiful, the end isn't. It's just dark and everpresent. He doesn't want to take Yuri there.

"Yura," Otabek says, the name coming out in a growl, against every fearful and silent fibre of his being. He's back on his hospital bed, staring down at his mangled leg. "I don't understand."

Yuri wears the fabric of reality, which happens to be the shirt with the laser-eyed kittens in space. It's not long enough to hide that he's otherwise nude, and it's mildly disturbing as he straddles Otabek's lap.

"Okay, tell me," he says simply, hanging his arms loosely around Otabek's shoulders. Otabek pulls him closer and buries his face in Yuri's neck, ignoring the drips of water from the still wet hair piled on the top of his head.

"How the fuck," Otabek starts, finding it easier, again, to speak when hiding in Yuri, "did I convince you to be with me? How was there no competition?"

"Competition for what?" Yuri huffs, scraping his fingers through Otabek's undercut. "For me? For my attention? What the fuck, Beka? People suck. I don't like them and they don't like me."

Otabek has seen plenty of people like Yuri, but mostly to Yuri's displeasure. "You don't need to like people to want to fuck them," he mutters.

"Ugh, I do," Yuri says and pushes at Otabek until he has to look up and accept the contemplative and judgemental face Yuri gives him, like a blond fox debating a meal. "So you don't, huh? How many people have you had sex with?"

Otabek squeezes Yuri close again, nosing at the neck of his shirt. It's soft and well-worn and smells like a dessert. "Define sex."

"Oh my God," Yuri exhales. "You're one of those. Okay. Any time you've had an orgasm provided by someone else."

Otabek tries, he really tries to come to a concrete number, but there'd been too many dark and anonymous encounters during his time in London. The rush of doing something forbidden like that had been the reason at first, and when that rush had vanished, he'd tried to chase it that much harder. He doesn't have a number. He has a guess.

"I don't know. Maybe fifty."

He doesn't know if the scoff from Yuri is out of surprise or condemnation.

"Three," Yuri says. "Including you."

Otabek's arms shake with the tension of holding Yuri so tight, but Yuri doesn't complain. He crosses his fingers atop of Otabek's bent head and leans his chin on them.

"Sounds like I should've had more competition for _you_ ," Yuri says, while Otabek grapples with reality, and the fact that if there was a competition, he _won_.

"You _like_ me?" he speaks the next words of wild disbelief.

"I guess," Yuri sighs, shifting on Otabek's thighs. He unlatches his fingers and toys with Otabek's ear, then trails the pattern tattooed on his shoulder aimlessly. "I shouldn't, yeah? I should hate you. Would be a lot simpler if I did."

Otabek brings his head up slowly, afraid to say anything, and wanting to catch the soft and vulnerable Yuri for just a second. He doesn't get the chance because Yuri pecks him on the lips immediately.

"There's the resting bitch face I like," he says. "Good talk. Can I get dressed now? I wanna get to the party."

Otabek releases the being he's captured in his lap and falls back on the bed. Getting dressed won't take him any time at all. He only has black clothes and old band t-shirts and jeans. Some combination of those works for everything, whatever Yuri may think of his fashion sense. He's afraid of the end. Of being the cause of the end. Of hurting Yuri. Of wanting someone so much. Of not being able to repair him with gold. Of precious scars becoming ugly memories.


	5. Chapter 5

Party venues are good for hiding. Too bright and too dark at intervals, and a storm of noise, music or otherwise. The monochromatic wardrobe serves Otabek well on occasions like this. He's also abandoned the more adventurous materials. But it is, he admits, the exact kind of party where Yuri's gleaming, white latex pants and sheer iridescent shirt make sense. They become all colours under the lights.

The music has a beat and Yuri is gone with it almost immediately. Otabek needs to be either more high or more drunk than he is right now to follow, so he hides off to the side with a bottle of water. He exchanges a few words with some of the people he knows better and thinks he spots Nurbek with Aliya when the lights flash white for a second.

"My favourite big brother." The words come as a surprise, as do their speaker.

"Rania." Otabek nods at her. She offers her vape pen and he accepts, adding to the already hazy atmosphere. It has the flavour of raspberry and CBD. He holds onto it until she makes impatient gestures to get it back.

"Let's dance?" she offers, hanging too close to Otabek to make herself heard. Her hair's in a high ponytail, shiny and sleek, and she's wearing a form-fitting jumpsuit with the legs cut off short.

Otabek shakes his head and has a sip of the water he's mostly holding for Yuri. Plenty of footballers for her to choose from.

The lights flash pink and red, Yuri's shiny pants flash along with the lights in the middle of the dancers. Even his skin shimmers, like he's dusted with microglitter. _S_ _weat._

"I'm into brooders lately," she says as if reading his thoughts and presses against him to speak into his ear again. Less yelling, too much unwanted physical proximity.

The beat dips. There's no DJ tonight, just a pre-mixed playlist. It works up to a point, and this is the point. People want to dance, but the next song is for chilling out. Rania tries to put her arms around his shoulders, but he shrugs her off, and sees Yuri steamrolling towards them through the thinning crowd.

Otabek holds out the bottle of water and Yuri takes it, eyes on Rania as he downs it. "This is Y-" Otabek starts to say.

"Yuri Plisetsky!" Rania exclaims. "I know who Yuri Plisetsky is!"

Yuri shoves the bottle back at Otabek, flicking his eyes over her. "Who're you?"

"Rania al-Ahmad," she says eagerly, but doesn't go to shake his hand. Not that Yuri is offering. "I dance here at the Abay Theatre!"

Yuri makes a face at Otabek _—_ _is that supposed to mean something to me_ _—_ and brushes his hair back from his face. He's still out of breath, the whites of his eyes gleaming when the lights sweep over them.

"Abay State Opera and Ballet Theatre," Otabek supplies.

"Okay," Yuri says. "Beka, dance."

But Rania grabs Otabek's wrist. "You know him? You know him. How do you know him?" Her face goes slack with realisation. "He's the babe!"

"Who the fuck what now?" Yuri says, but his voice is drowned by a rogue wave of music, and Otabek only sees the shape of the words on his lips.

Rania crashes into Yuri, clasping his shoulders and stands up on the tips of her toes to talk into his ear. Yuri looks like he might push her away, but then stops, eyes coming back to Otabek. When Rania steps back, Yuri tilts his head back a little and laughs. She takes his arm and pulls him towards the dancefloor, leaving Otabek alone again, feeling like he should've stopped whatever just happened.

His consolation prize is the vape pen. By the time Yuri comes to take him into the vortex of light and bodies, he's more than willing to follow him and be danced into a mess.

When Yuri clings closer and dances with his thigh between Otabek's and pulls on his hair just enough, and when Yuri puts their foreheads together and breathes the same air with their lips almost touching, Otabek knows exactly what to do. They stagger out into a warm night that still feels cool on their sweaty skin and into Nurbek's blue A5. It doesn't need a key when the key fob is close enough, and it's probably just a coincidence that it is when Otabek tries the door.

"Better than the toilets," Yuri declares and climbs in. The latex makes his ass even rounder. The top is just see-through enough to reveal the intoxicating swoop of his back. Otabek barely gets the door shut behind himself before he has a lapful of Russian Ice Princess. The outfit's on Instagram, right after the declaration of boyfriendhood, and both posts are already saved in Otabek's phone.

Otabek's hands squeak on the latex as he splays his hands on it, and the back of his head collides with the window when Yuri kisses him, sitting on top of him. Only a tiny drop of guilt gets to come through the physical sensations. After all, it's not his car.

Yuri's tall but bendy, and Otabek's short and unwieldy. Together they make a compromise that allows Yuri to ride Otabek, although slumped forwards, and Otabek doesn't complain about the uncomfortable way his neck's bent. There's also no way of getting Yuri out of his sticky trousers, but at least they unzip. Otabek has a handful of both of them when the door pops open and spills him awkwardly backwards. The bulk of him is on the back seat and pinned under Yuri so he doesn't fall out completely.

"What are you doing?" Nurbek asks, even though it should be obvious from their red faces, their undone pants. Otabek's world is upside down and he can barely focus his eyes right now. "Are you- Get out of my car!"

"I'm really close," Yuri says, gulping down air, leaning over Otabek to grab at the door. "Close the door and let me finish, little brother."

"No!" Nurbek is extremely and strangely high-pitched. "Get out of _my car!_ "

Otabek can't move so he feels very calm. He hasn't even let go of their cocks. It's up to Yuri. He just hangs there, throbbing under Yuri's shifting weight, staring up at his brother, head upside down. "Hi, Aliya," he says when he notices her behind Nurbek.

She's trying not to laugh, pressing her cherry red lips together very hard. "Hi, Otabek. Long time."

Yuri reaches down to pull Otabek's head up by his hair and kisses him very sloppily, grinding down, and Nurbek makes a horrified noise.

"Yura," Otabek mumbles, pushing at him half-heartedly. "Let's finish later. It _is_ his car."

Yuri lets go and exhales haughtily through his nose. "Fucking fine." He sits up, still on top of Otabek because there's nowhere else to go and fishes up his shirt from somewhere, then backs off and exists through the other door, and leaves Otabek to scramble up to cover himself and then shuffle out after him.

"I'm taking Ali home," Nurbek says, getting in with a disgusted grimace. "You two can walk."

Aliya doesn't follow him in immediately but stops to touch Otabek's arm. "You got over your broken heart," she says, nodding at Yuri who's standing on the other side of the car, getting into his shirt.

Otabek follows her gaze and finds himself falling into a smile despite the unfulfilled hard-on straining in his jeans and the general absurdity of the situation. Yuri is combing his fingers through his hair, scowling, chest still heaving as though he's just come off the stage. The streetlamps make him golden and gleaming and like a sculpture of living marble.

"Yeah, this is Yuri," Otabek says. "My boyfriend."

Yuri whips around the car at that and shoves himself into the conversation by inserting himself in front of Otabek, ass to crotch. "Yeah, and who're you?" He makes the demand snobbily.

"Aliya," she replies and smiles at him, then looks at Otabek again. "I'm happy for you. It was nice to meet you, Yuri, but I better go before Nuraym blows a gasket."

"Are you getting back together?" Otabek asks while she circles the car to the passenger side.

"Doubt it, but you never know," she says and grins before slipping into the car. Nurbek backs out of the parking space immediately, holding a middle finger up at them.

"Huh," Yuri says as they watch the Audi speed away. "I don't think your brother's as cool with you being gay as you think."

Otabek puts his arm around Yuri's waist, although only for the purpose of letting it slip down over his ass. The latex makes the perfect roundness even more pronounced and irresistible. "I think he's just not cool with me trying to bang you in his car."

"There was no banging," Yuri huffs and steps away, but only to make sure nobody's paying attention to them as he comes back around and kisses Otabek, almost as sloppy and promising as in the car. "You used the b-word, _Beka._ "

"You're a lot of b-words, Yura," Otabek agrees, causing Yuri to smile while wiping his lips with the back of his hand. It makes him look young and bashful, even when Otabek's fully aware of just how much Yuri's about to burst out of his too-tight pants. "We can get a cab."

"No, let's walk," Yuri says. "That girl inside told me you caught her and your brother in the car."

"Who? Oh." Otabek slides his hand against the back of Yuri's trousers again. They haven't moved. "Yeah, that happened."

"Why'd you think I suggested the car?" Yuri grins and catches Otabek's hand, shoving it away. "Stop fondling me or I'm gonna come in my pants."

Otabek doesn't apologise and takes a moment to breathe. The sky is dark and he knows the stars are there, but can't see any. "You wanted Nura to catch us," he says, attempting to come to terms with a whole lot of conflicting emotions at once. He's still hard. He might be able to make Yuri come in his stupidly tight, wonderful latex pants. Yuri orchestrated a situation for Nurbek to catch them.

"I don't think he knew how fucking gay you are," Yuri says and starts away from the car park. Otabek follows without even checking which direction they're going. "Like, maybe hypothetically, but not really."

"And you wanted to educate him?" Otabek isn't angry. Slightly bemused and kind of amused. He pats down his pockets to make sure he still has their phones and his keys, then swipes his hand against the curve of Yuri's back and ass again, only to be chased away.

It's a nice evening for a walk. Cool, but not cold. No London rain or sleet, no Moscow snow flurries, just enough of a breeze at the treetops to make the leaves laugh and whisper above the sound of people and the occasional car. Yuri walks half a step ahead, toe-heel, like he's only inconvenienced by gravity instead of bound by it. Inconvenienced by rules of conduct and propriety instead of bound by them.

"Or show off?" Otabek concludes when Yuri says nothing. It prompts a snort and Yuri to whirl around and walk backwards.

"Jealous?" Yuri's nose is wrinkled and lips curled up just at the corners. "You look so similar. Maybe I wouldn't know the difference."

Otabek refuses to take the bait, but does take a longer step and catches Yuri briefly, just for a kiss and a grope, hopefully safe in the dark.

"What'd the other one say about your broken heart?" Yuri asks, not moving away immediately. Not until forced by the presence of another couple walking down the opposite side of the street, their appearance heralded well in advance by the sound of her high heels on the asphalt.

It takes Otabek a second to come back to the question. "Aliya and Nura were together when I got back home." Yuri falls into step by his side. "She saw how bad I was."

"So how bad were you?" Yuri keeps his face slightly turned towards Otabek, and Otabek does the same, admiring the angle of Yuri's cheekbones and the sweep of his neck. The breathtakingly simple lines that create an ever-moving piece of art.

"Pretty bad," Otabek says, his hand crawling up his chest to touch at his throat, still surprised to not find the pearls there. The black ones are in a pile on his desk, the blue ones hang on the wall above his bed like some religious symbol.

"I landed wrong after a jump and rolled my ankle the next day," Yuri says and turns away, to look at the window of a store they're passing by. Otabek can see the scowl in his reflection. Curiosity doesn't always reward. So he's the reason for the ankle brace, too.

"I crashed into a bollard in Calais the next day." Otabek turns away, too. "I slid across the pavement for ten metres."

"Really?" Yuri bumps into Otabek's side although still looking elsewhere.

"Yep." Ten metres is nothing. He'd been driving slow. "Remember how big that bike was? Could've been worse."

Yuri bumps into him again, and Otabek places his arm briefly around him. "Fuck your broken heart," Yuri says and they separate again.

"Bold statement from my boyfriend," Otabek says. He says it very softly, almost to himself, but Yuri's head comes around with an almost audible snap.

"What the fuck did you say? Fuck you." But Yuri isn't angry. He isn't even displeased. He's wide-eyed and flushed and wearing clothes Otabek wants to lick off him. He grasps the front of Otabek's shirt and pulls him close. "Fuck _me_ ," he says.

"On the stre-" Otabek's words catch in the back of his throat. Yuri could ask for that, and Otabek might be stupid enough to do it, despite the risk to their health and safety.

But Yuri exhales a short _ha_ , soft and dangerous, and yanks him closer. "On that trash beanbag of yours," Yuri says. "Get a cab."

"No, let's walk," Otabek says, only to witness the instant darkening of Yuri's countenance, but he's already taken out his phone to text the cab company. "Kidding," he adds.

"Asshole," Yuri says, but lets Otabek rest his free hand around his waist and on his ass while they wait for the cab.

The ride is a tense one and Otabek makes sure to sit as far from Yuri as he can, then almost has his heart stop when Yuri disappears while he's paying, only to find him by his door, two floors up, leaning on the wall like it's the most normal thing. And it is, really, because it's what Yuri does. Hurries ahead and then waits for Otabek. One day he's going to go too far ahead and not wait.

This time Otabek still catches up. And Yuri crowds him at the door, pressing against him from behind as he rattles the key in the lock and releases the latch and pours them into the safe space of his flat.

"Undress me," Yuri says in the red shadows, grabbing at Otabek where he can, as Otabek unloads his pockets. The keys, his phone, Yuri's cat-eared monstrosity, his wallet, they all land in the pile of Yuri's luggage and clothes by the door.

In theory, kneeling and undoing Yuri's pants would be sexy. In practice, Otabek's knee cracks so loudly as he goes down that Yuri freezes.

"Jesus," Yuri says. Otabek's morbid amusement at the failings of his own body comes out as breathless, voiceless laughter which he exhales against Yuri's stomach, in an awkward crouch in front of him. "Are you okay?"

Otabek holds up his thumb, wheezing, and Yuri folds down with endless grace. "You look so fucking nice when you smile, you know that?" Yuri says, but by then Otabek's laughter has become the embers of a smile, and Yuri rubs his thumb across his lips. "There it goes," he mutters. "Gone with the fucking wind."

O tabek kisses Yuri in apology, and then helps off his clingy, sheer shirt.  The latex pants Otabek gives up on by the time they're down to Yuri's mid-thigh, and instead tips a not very gracious Yuri face down on the beanbag and buries his face in his ass. It's a good enough distraction to have Yuri's trickle of curses become a hiccuped laugh and then obscene moans. He tastes like sweat and a hint of coconut, and smells like someone who's just spent hours in latex trousers, but it doesn't deter Otabek one bit from sucking marks on his thighs and ass, or from spreading him open for his mouth.

Yuri comes between Otabek's tongue and dragging his cock against the purple velour of the beanbag. "Gross," he whines right after, muffled by having his face pressed into his arms. "You're never getting this thing clean."

"I'll just flip it over," Otabek mumbles against Yuri's flesh. He's still fully dressed and pent up, sitting on Yuri's twitching and latex-captive legs.

"What?" Yuri inhales so hard it becomes almost a whistle. "God, you're so fucking disgusting." He still pushes his ass up, flipping his hair so the tattoo becomes visible. "Are you gonna fuck me or not?"

Otabek sits up and wipes his mouth on his shirt. He gropes the lube and the condoms into his hands from his desk and applies both hurriedly, and then lets Yuri take his dick. He doesn't know if Yuri drooling when he comes is out of spite towards the beanbag, or an actual reaction to his orgasm. It looks lewd enough for Otabek to not mind even if its the former.

_Again_ , Yuri insists when Otabek is panting against his neck and seeing stars and tigers. It's no surprise. Yuri is a crepuscular being, most active at dusk and dawn, and Otabek doesn't get to rest. The second time is much slower, and Otabek rests his cheek on Yuri's back, breathing in the sweat and sex and evergreens, capturing the taut body under himself into an embrace of filth and adoration.

Otabek makes a token effort at getting clean afterwards, but he's barely awake and falls into bed as soon as he can. And he's completely disoriented when a loud _cronch_ wakes him, and he sees Yuri standing above him on the bed, kicking the beanbag out of the window with an apple in his mouth.

Otabek has heard of sleep paralysis. His nightmare creature is still Yuri, and the creature turns to him with gleaming eyes after booting the offending piece of non-furniture out, and sits on him, leaning down to eat the apple at his face, _cronching_ loudly. Otabek goes back to sleep when his heart stops beating too hard, and finds the apple core on his pillow in the morning. Like a gift from the god of cats.


	6. Chapter 6

The stationary bikes are in the same area as the treadmills at the gym, but not close enough for Otabek to hear what Yuri and Nurbek talk about while they run. Running is out of the question for him, so he listens to music and watches the backs of these two people he loves.

He'd half expected Nurbek to not show to pick them up after what had happened, and was happy they'd chosen not to swim that morning. At least the t-shirt Yuri has on covers the bruises that Otabek couldn't stop giving him, but then Yuri had doggedly chosen the treadmill right next to Nurbek's.

Otabek finishes his cardio and they're still running, sweaty and red-faced and determined. Otabek limps over, having pedalled harder than necessary out of a feeling of inadequacy, and slams the stop button on both of their treadmills.

"Are you kidding?" he says as they slow down, and Nurbek slides off, leaning on his knees to breathe. Yuri doesn't seem much better. "A competition?"

"He said ballet dancers aren't athletes," Yuri pants, heaving an accusatory thumb towards Nurbek.

"I said," Nurbek gasps, "that footballers have more... stamina!"

"Fucking please." Yuri rolls his eyes, sweat darkening his hair and the orange shirt he's wearing. "I almost had him. Look at him!"

"I'm nowhere done yet!" Nurbek climbs back on the treadmill. "Let's go."

Otabek smacks his little brother's hand away from the controls. "Step off, Nura. Stop goading him, Yura."

Yuri snorts and grabs his towel and water bottle and heads for the free weights. Nurbek snorts, too, and dries his face with his shirt. "Stop babysitting us, Beka."

"Stop doing stupid shit," Otabek mutters. "You're playing Astana day after tomorrow. What's the point of exhausting yourself today?"

"I'm fine!" Nurbek says and follows Yuri. Otabek hears them arguing about proper deadlift form and chooses to put his earbuds in as he moves through his routine, keeping his eye on them and feeling more like an older brother than he has in years.

The steam room is where Otabek usually relaxes after gym. The heat is good for his muscles, but it's too much heat when Yuri sits on his left and Nurbek on his right, and they keep talking over him. Arguing. Competing for the sake of being annoying.

Otabek hasn't seen Yuri interact much with other people of his own age. The short lengths of their relationship have always been conducted behind closed doors and away from other people, and Otabek has only the words of others to explain Yuri's behaviour in company. The obnoxious competitiveness explains some things, but he's surprised his brother's taking the bait. Over and over again.

"I already have you beat in flexibility and stamina," Yuri says, leaning into Otabek's space to glare at Nurbek. "Do you really wanna lose in strength, too?"

"I'm not ready to concede stamina to you." Nurbek refuses to look at him, crossing his arms. "And we'll see about strength!"

"Yeah, we will," Yuri promises. Otabek has noticed Nurbek doesn't like looking at Yuri when he's naked or almost naked, especially when it's clear the mouth bruises on Yuri are fresh. Otabek loves seeing them, and he loves how unapologetic Yuri is about having them on display.

"I'll be back in three days," Nurbek grunts.

Yuri glances at Otabek and his mouth tilts up, just at the corners. "That's good. The stubble burn on my ass will be gone by then and I'll be able to concentrate."

"What?" Nurbek says, turning to glance at him. "Why-"

Yuri smiles at him, smug and insolent, lifting a hand to touch Otabek's chin, to draw the pad of his thumb against the stubble there. Nurbek's gaze follows.

"Oh no," Nurbek says and leaves the steam room in a hurry. Yuri cackles and leans back.

"It's so fun to freak him out," he says, making a show of relaxing, wet, spiky lashes resting on the tops of his cheeks when he closes his eyes. "Innocent little brother."

Otabek covers his face with his hands and leans forwards to brace against his knees. "I like it when you flaunt," he mumbles through his fingers as though it somehow absolves him if he's reluctant about admitting it.

"Don't worry, I'm gonna wear clothes for when I meet your parents."

"Fuck." Otabek mutters into his hands. It's deliberate, he knows, that his parents have invited them for dinner when Nurbek is going away. Just as deliberate as Otabek not taking Yuri to any of Kairat's matches because his mother's been at those.

"Are we going?" Yuri asks.

"Don't have to." Otabek sits up. There's only a few other people in the steam room, but it's still not really the best place to be public.

"We're going," Yuri decides, generous with the we, and knocks his pointy elbow into Otabek. "Fucking coward."

Otabek thumbs-ups him and shuffles out of the steam room although his muscles are now more tense than they were going in. He should shave, too, but there's hardly any motivation when Yuri likes to rub his lips and fingers against it. Maybe for the dinner, just in case Yuri feels like pulling that same move on his parents.

Nurbek is silent on the drive home, but so are Yuri and Otabek. "Good luck," Nurbek says when he stops the car. "You know, with them."

"Thanks," Otabek replies. Nurbek acknowledging the issues between Otabek and their parents is nice, even if he's never had to go through the same. "You too," he says. "Against Astana." He stalls, and Yuri stops in the back seat to wait. "Nura, you and Aliya..."

"It's nothing," Nurbek shrugs, but he crosses his arms like he does when he feels defensive. "We just did some catching up, is all. After I steam-cleaned my back seat."

"Sorry," Otabek says, completely not sorry. "I think that was Yuri's idea of a prank."

"Your brother's _gay!_ " Yuri supplies, leaning between the front seats to get into the conversation.

Nurbek grimaces. "I don't know if I like you or hate you."

"I think that's a common reaction to Yuri," Otabek reassures his brother and reaches into the car to pat the ridiculous man-bun he's taken to wearing. Nurbek slaps his hand away.

"It is," Yuri agrees with a cackle. "It's okay, little brother. Just don't get in my way."

"I'm not your little brother!" Nurbek says, glaring at him over his shoulder. "I'm older than you."

Yuri snorts and leans back, kicking the back of Nurbek's seat, then Otabek's. "What's the hold-up?"

Nurbek skims his fingers around the steering wheel, but doesn't say anything until Otabek moves to open the door. "Beka. I'm leaving in less than four months."

Otabek nods. This isn't new.

"Do you think it'd be wrong of me to get back together with Ali..?"

"Because you're leaving so soon?" Otabek can sympathise.

"Yeah." Nurbek nods, too.

Otabek doesn't get the chance to reply when Yuri explodes into the conversation again.

"You fucking emotional invalids!" Yuri yells and kicks and claws at their seats. "You fucking idiots!" He shoves himself forwards between the front seats, furious. "What the fuck is wrong with you two! If you like her, fucking _tell her!_ Take her _with you!_ Jesus! Why is this so hard for you two!"

The words strike Otabek probably harder than they do Nurbek. Yuri kicks their seats again, growling and exits the car like the tempest he is, leaving behind a ringing silence and the remains of whatever he's laid to waste.

"Talk to her," Otabek says, but it might as well be complete nonsense for all the attention he pays to his words right then, legs already out of the car. Yuri is crossing the street, heading away from where he lives. Otabek's leg aches, causing him to limp as he goes after Yuri.

"Yura," he says, still steps behind.

"Get fucked!" Yuri replies and keeps going. His movements lack the usual fluidity.

Otabek's leg almost collapses under his weight on the next step. He stumbles and collides with a man passing by. "Sorry," he says in Kazakh and stops. He can't catch Yuri on one leg. He probably couldn't catch him on two legs, either. "Yura."

"I can finally see the family resemblance!" Yuri whirls around, threat and accusation written across every plane of his body. "Oh, you're so _good!_ Thinking about what's best for the other person!" he mocks and approaches Otabek with teeth bared. "But you're selfish! And you're gutless!"

They don't even have the cover of darkness, and Otabek has no hope of ever controlling Yuri. He leans on the wall, the side of another block of flats, and accepts what Yuri says as truth. It isn't a terribly busy street, but there's still people, and characters like Yuri attract attention, wherever, whenever.

"If he doesn't talk to her, I'm gonna strangle him. And then you!" Yuri stops in front of Otabek, stabbing him in the chest with his finger. Up close the cracks in his façade of anger are visible and fear oozes through, breaking Otabek's legs all over again.

Otabek nods and slowly, like with any wild animal, takes Yuri's hand into both of his, folding away the sharp finger. "Come home," he says.

"Your home!" Yuri almost pulls away.

"Come back to my shitty flat, Yura," Otabek says. _Strangle me as many times as you want_.

"Ugh." Yuri scowls, but the expression is wobbly. "What's wrong with your leg?"

"It hurts," Otabek says simply, because it does. It's just background noise to a whole cacophony of issues Otabek doesn't know how to handle.

Yuri grabs his elbow. "Can we still get the bike today?"

"Mm." Otabek nods. He'll just need some of those painkillers Yuri had promised to feed him. They'll get him back on his feet even if what he actually craves is Yuri zipping him up again, to help stop the slow bleed of guilt that corrodes him from within.

"Why'd you look me up again, Beka?" Yuri asks when they make it inside the flat. "Why'd you come to Moscow?"

"Just super selfish, like you said." Otabek swallows his pills and then climbs carefully onto the bed. He should've taken it easier at the gym. Yuri drops next to him.

"That's all?"

Otabek puts his arm over his face and breathes slowly. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Breathing right is supposed to cure a variety of ills. It's not even been a year since he went to Yuri. It feels like more. "I went to London. I went to my old place. I felt good that day. I wanted to make it right."

Yuri, for once, doesn't interrupt, but his fingers find their way into Otabek's hair.

"But you weren't there anymore. I didn't understand why, and I'd already given up on staying away. I had to tell you I was sorry. That I knew I hurt you."

"What'd you think that was gonna accomplish?" Yuri mutters.

Otabek lowers his arm, incredulous. " _This_."

The pause on Yuri's face is palpable. Then he clicks his tongue impatiently. "Asshole. You didn't accomplish this, _I_ did."

"Don't care," Otabek says. Yuri hovers above him, leaning on one arm, cross and sun-infused. "Why'd you let me come over on your birthday if you were seeing someone else?" He's wanted to ask it for almost five months. It's only been less than five months since it happened. More guilt.

Yuri sits up, mouth moving as though he's chewing on something unpleasant, eyes shadowed by his furrowed brows. He walks his fingers up and down his own legs. "'Cause I knew you'd come," he finally says, meeting Otabek's eyes. "'Cause you came looking for me in the first place."

"You thought I was more likely to come than someone who lived in the same city as you?"

"Yeah." Yuri shrugs. His fingers pace over Otabek's leg, too. Pointy ends digging into the big muscle of Otabek's thigh. "I was right," he adds. "She didn't- She never came even though I called her."

"She?" Otabek stares, but Yuri drops his gaze again, digs his knuckles into the iliopsoas muscle in Otabek's hip.

"You should stretch more," Yuri says. "She was kind of a bitch, but that's what I liked about her."

"You liked her?"

"Yeah, kinda," Yuri lies back down with a frustrated exhalation, planting his head Otabek's shoulder. Otabek squeezes him closer reflexively. "But I was still alone when Potya died. And I knew you'd come," he repeats, more quiet.

Otabek tries to remember how to breathe. Or to speak. To exorcise the _do nothing, speak never_ he's lived by. "You don't think Yuuri and Viktor would've come?"

"Dunno," Yuri sniffs into Otabek's neck. "They picked their stupid dog over me."

Otabek watches a swatch of light on the ceiling. He knows it's a reflection of the sun from a window on the other side of the street. It's edges are as wobbly as Yuri's earlier scowl. He doesn't bother correcting Yuri about Viktor and Yuuri. That's their business.

"Did it help that I came?" Otabek asks softly.

"Fuck no!" Yuri snorts. "Hurt like hell."

"Does it still hurt?" Otabek has experience with pain that never goes away. It's always been strange to him that others don't feel the same constant ache.

"Sometimes. It did just now in the car. Fuck," Yuri swears, soft and brittle. "You don't have the right to decide for someone else. _Fuck!_ " Yuri squirms and smacks Otabek on the chest. "God, I fucking hate you." He says it with such feeling that Otabek believes him without question. Otabek hates himself, too.

 _But you came all this way_. Otabek doesn't point out the obvious dichotomy. Instead he shifts onto his side and brings his other arm around Yuri as well and squeezes him close. Yuri is right. This is all his accomplishment, because there's no way Otabek could ever have managed this outcome. He does know this isn't the grace of any god, or a coincidence, or any karmic endgame. This is the grace of a single human being, tucked against Otabek's undeserving self.

#

The pattern of Yuri's sleep has now become familiar to Otabek, although the familiarity doesn't make it any less exhausting. He belongs to the twilight hours, dusk and dawn, sleeps very little at night, but naps all through the day in the sun on Otabek's bed. Occasionally he wakes up to feed.

He also likes morning sex. On the morning of their dinner plans with Otabek's parents, along with the laziest morning sex possible, Yuri spooned against Otabek's chest and crotch, Otabek has an idea. His slow thrusts come to a complete stop as he contemplates the realisation of the idea, hand going lax around Yuri's cock. He stares at Yuri's shoulder, particularly interested of a tiny mole on it, until Yuri squirms and voices a rude noise.

"Yura," Otabek croaks and moves his hand up against Yuri's sternum, stilling him. "I know where I want to take you."

Yuri's breath catches a little, probably more out of annoyance and lack of use than anything else. "Beka," he complains hoarsely. He scrabbles behind himself, at Otabek's hip, trying to make him move again. "I was so close. What the fuck are you talking about?"

"There's this lake up in the mountains," Otabek says, voice cracking as well when Yuri starts rocking against him instead. "Shh, Yura."

"The only lake I want right now is a lake of cum," Yuri growls.

"You're the one-" Otabek pauses to catch Yuri's flailing hand so he doesn't get punched again. "This whole operation was your idea." Both the sex and the roadtrip, not that Otabek isn't a willing participant.

"Oh my _Goddd_." Yuri elongates the consonant into a plosive. "Just- Can you-" He pulls with the arm Otabek has caught and turns his head to bite into Otabek's arm that's acting as his pillow. He manages to free his other arm and stretches it above his head to try and grab something, maybe his book, to hit Otabek with.

Otabek just shifts with him, licking along the exposed armpit, mostly tasting sweat and musk and effectively stilling Yuri again. "Yura," he says, licking at him again, which lends itself to a shudder and a tightening of Yuri around him.

"Ew," Yuri whinges, but breathlessly. Otabek licks his shoulder and his neck, and sucks on his earlobe, all to noises of protest that mean nothing when Yuri grinds back against him so eagerly.

Otabek pulls a protracted orgasm from Yuri, holding the hot and trembly body against his until Yuri's muscles go lax again and his cock turns from desperately hard to slightly soft under Otabek's wet hand. The fresh sweat makes them stick together, and the panting ceases with a surprised gulp when Otabek moves his hips. The power shifts ever so slightly during some post-coital moments when Yuri becomes helpless from the combination of orgasming and bodily fluids.

"You didn't come," Yuri says, low but accusing.

"Mm," Otabek agrees. He's pretty proud of having held on and teases the tip of Yuri's cock, causing another whinge and Yuri elbow impacting with his ribcage. "I want to keep going."

"I thought you wanted to _talk_ ," Yuri spits and squeaks as Otabek rolls on top of him, forcing him flat into his own wet spot. "Asshole!" he yowls. "Get-"

"Get off?" Otabek plants his knees on either side of Yuri's hips, pulling out and pushing back in with a wet squelch. "I'm trying."

This time Yuri grabs a pillow and whacks at Otabek with it, but also meets his thrust by canting his hips up. He does love to make a fuss, but becomes a willing and happy participant by Otabek's second deep, slow thrust and the bite Otabek lays on the back of his neck. He needs stress relief, too, and he's lost the ability to shake it off.

He gets to lose himself in Yuri, gets to pound him into the mattress, gets to wring another orgasm out of him, with Yuri reasserting himself by grabbing Otabek's hair over his shoulder, pulling his head down. The sting of it and the familiar taste of Yuri's skin on his tongue, the familiar heat of him and the feel of his muscles bunching and tensing, like riding a wild horse. It's exactly what Otabek needs.

And it's amusing to see Yuri's sneer of disgust and horror as he ties off the condom and tosses it over the edge of the bed. Otabek kisses him until the expression becomes a little less stark.

"I'm gonna throw the sheets out," Yuri blusters into the kisses. Otabek continues to kiss him and stroke his back, his flank. "And the bed!"

"And me, I guess?" Otabek murmurs.

"I've thought of it!"

Yuri succumbs to the cuddles and strokes for a minute. "What lake?" he asks then, suitably soothed and post-orgasmic, but pulling away from Otabek's damp embrace.

Otabek fights his eyes open, already drifting off from exertion and release. "Big Almaty Lake," he murmurs, pressing his nose to Yuri's shoulder.

"Tomorrow?"

"Mm." Otabek dozes off again. He doesn't remember why it was so important to talk about it. Everything's going to be the same tomorrow as it is today. Meeting his parents isn't going to change anything.


	7. Chapter 7

Otabek picks up when Isabella calls. Every time.

"This is how I keep in touch with everyone now," Isabella says after the greetings, rocking Victoire slowly. "Do you think it's sad?"

"Isn't this how everyone keeps in touch?" Otabek shrugs. He's slouching in front of his desk and his laptop, arms on the desk and his head resting on them. Isabella is putting him to sleep much more than the baby. Yuri hasn't let him sleep.

"I used to go out, Bex," Isabella sighs. "I'd have coffee with friends. Outside. Several times a week." Victoire coos and she coos back. "Jack's worse. It's my day off today, but he still has to work. He works so hard, Bex."

Her face is worried, or tired. Or both. Otabek feels less and less kindly about having children of his own every time he talks to either her or JJ. Victoire is adorable, but in a way that hellspawn is. She's clearly taking after her father.

"But what's going on there?" Isabella asks. She's too nice for her own good. Otabek wouldn't blame her if she just complained for an hour straight, but here she is, taking an interest in his life.

Otabek lifts his head and looks over his shoulder. Yuri is stomping back and forth with clothes in his arms, headphones on, looking determined and a little bit frightening. "You mean that?"

"Yeah, I mean _that_ ," Isabella asserts. "You didn't even tell us you're having him over, you rogue."

"I didn't know he was coming," Otabek says.

"You didn't even tell us you two were talking," Isabella continues. "Is it good?"

"It's been a weird year, but… it's good," Otabek agrees and turns back, laying his chin on top of his hands. She smiles. "We're seeing my parents today. In a few hours, actually."

"You look troubled." She plays with the curl of dark hair on top of Victoire's head, and the baby waggles her pudgy arms and fingers.

Otabek rubs his face and almost stabs himself in the eye when a loud thud is followed by Yuri cursing.

"What's he doing?" Isabella asks.

"Picking an outfit, I guess," Otabek says. Although when he glances behind himself, Yuri is taking a selfie with a thunderous expression and a raised middle finger, wearing, of all things, one of Otabek's shirts and a pair of his sweatpants. They keep falling far too low. The loud sound receives an explanation when Yuri kicks his luggage against the wall again. Otabek grimaces, but Isabella seems more curious than anything.

"Oh, tell him the emerald green top with the white pants," Isabella says, pointing at something. "The one he's hung up there. It'll be good with his colours."

"Yura," Otabek says, sitting up. He waves his hand until Yuri notices and pushes the headphones down.

"What do you want?" Yuri says, pleasant as ever.

"Isabella wants you to try the green shirt with the white pants," Otabek repeats faithfully.

"Jewel tones!" Isabella adds from London.

Yuri chews on his lip, drawn closer and peering at the screen. "I have a purple shirt, too," he says. "Is that the kid, Beka?"

"Yeah. Victoire," Otabek says and Yuri sits in his lap.

"You named the poor kid Viktor?" Yuri asks, leaning towards the laptop.

"Victoire," Isabella laughs. "Can I see the purple shirt?"

"What'd you wear when you met Leroy's parents the first time?" Yuri says. Otabek settles his hands lightly on Yuri's hips.

"A wedding dress," Isabella says, kissing her daughter's head.

"Ha!" Yuri says, delighted, glancing at Otabek over his shoulder with a grin winking briefly across his mouth.

"No," Otabek says. Although Yuri would probably look good in a dress, too.

"I'm gonna try the green shirt," Yuri decides. "Wait there." He gets up and collects his clothes, moving to the side to put them on. Otabek tilts the laptop away out of a sense of propriety, even if he knows Yuri has zero reservations about his body.

"This is the most excitement I've had in a month," Isabella confides in Otabek. "I have to schedule my time with Jack a week ahead. I can barely remember what he looks like."

"Like an ass!" Yuri says loudly from the side.

"You're not making a convincing argument for having children." Otabek tries to keep his eyes on her, but ends up making too many glances at Yuri shimmying into his white jeans.

"Were you planning on having any?" She smiles.

"Fuck no!" Yuri supplies again and comes to stand behind Otabek, buttoning up the silky-looking shirt. "Move. You're in the way."

Otabek rolls his chair into the spot left by the disappeared beanbag and lets Yuri show off his outfit to Isabella. And to him, by extension.

"Oh, I knew it. You're stunning in that colour," Isabella says and claps her hands together softly, the baby safely in the crook of her arm. "It's so flattering."

"Thanks." Yuri preens. "How the fuck do you have such bad taste in men but great taste in clothes?"

"I think I have great taste in both," she says, remaining good-natured. "Can I see the purple shirt, too?"

Yuri switches out the shirts, but from the identical expressions of doubt on his and Isabella's faces Otabek can guess they don't like it as much. "I think you look good in everything," he says.

"Yeah, so you're useless." Yuri puts him back in his place immediately. "It's the gold thread, right? It's too much."

"And the gold buttons," Isabella adds. "The green is clean. Are you worried about meeting Bex's parents?" she inquires gently. Otabek pulls his good leg up on the chair and hugs it. He wishes his mother would tell Yuri he's stunning and joke about wedding dresses.

"I guess so," Yuri says, surprisingly forthcoming and without bite. "Thanks for the help."

"Any time," she replies. "And be nice to Bex."

Yuri snorts. "I'm always nice to him."

Otabek reaches for the laptop and brings it towards himself. Victoire has gone to sleep so Isabella speaks quietly. "It's good to see you moving forwards."

Otabek doesn't have to say anything. Isabella reaches for her laptop and adjusts it, coming closer to the camera in a facsimile of intimacy. "It's nice if Yuri inspires you to heal, but I wish you'd do it for your own sake," she continues.

_But I'm useless_ , Otabek almost says it out loud. Yuri is looking for better light by the window to take more pictures of himself, making a variety of faces. He shrugs.

"You know that other people's actions or feelings aren't your responsibility, don't you?" she adds. "Whatever your parents do or don't do. You're going to be fine if you just remember that."

She always has the right words. "I wish you were my wife," Otabek sighs, which is followed by a muttered _ugh gay_ from Yuri. Isabella covers her mouth with a hand and laughs so hard there's tears in her eyes, red-faced with the effort of keeping quiet.


	8. Chapter 8

The emerald shirt and the white jeans that are so tight they look painted on are a good combination. Not necessarily something Otabek wishes Yuri would wear to the dinner, but also not something he is going to bring up at all. Feeling like an outsider and an observer in life has made Otabek great at neverminding other people's choices. He barely has an effect on his own life, and when he does have an effect on someone else's life, it's usually for the worse. So he tries to keep out.

And so he has no interest in having any say regarding Yuri's wardrobe. He likes or he learns to like whatever Yuri wears. He secretly hopes the oversized hoodie makes a comeback in the winter. He hopes he's there to see it and take advantage of it.

"Would it kill you to own a mirror?" Yuri has taken about a dozen selfies already, trying to see himself from every angle. The fussing betrays his nerves, which Otabek finds reassuring because his nerves are also shot. He hasn't even dressed yet. He doesn't have to think about what he wears. There's just one option.

"Are you hungry?" Otabek changes the subject, and Yuri gives the question the serious contemplation its due.

"No," he finally decides. "Aren't we going to dinner anyway?"

Otabek gives him a thumbs-up. The weekly dinner with his parents, while obviously always with a meal served, has seldom seen Otabek finish eating anything. It just tanks his appetite, but so far he's not seen what would or could affect Yuri the same way. And Otabek aches from head to toe with the thought of it, and he doesn't know for whose sake, his own or Yuri's.

"Why the fuck are you nervous? Huh?" Yuri interprets him correctly. "They already hate you."

Otabek feels responsible for springing this discomfort on Yuri and lies back on the bed, which Yuri has stripped, almost shoving the sheets out the window like he'd threatened. "Really don't have to go," he mumbles.

"Who're you trying to save, me or you?" Yuri scoffs, stepping onto the bed to stand over Otabek, legs spread and arms akimbo. "I can do it."

"Are you going to fight them?" Otabek asks, looking up at him. He absolutely believes Yuri could take his parents in a fight.

"If I have to," Yuri promises darkly. He attempts to crack his knuckles, but when that doesn't work, he lifts one foot and cracks his toes instead. Otabek thinks it would be amusing if he wasn't so in awe. "You came to dinner with my... parents," Yuri spits out the word, "and they hated you, too."

Otabek nods. _They wanted to protect you. I should've listened to them._

"They told me to dump you like a million times. Should've listened, huh?"

Learning this doesn't surprise Otabek in the slightest, he is only gratified by the congruence of his and Yuri's thoughts, and somewhat by the consistency shown by Yuuri and Viktor in hating him. Or in trying to protect Yuri. All it does is confirm that this shouldn't exist. He's created a universe out of negative consequences.

"Maybe that's something we should talk about," Otabek murmurs, partly to his own thoughts, partly to Yuri.

"Yeah," Yuri agrees. "But not now." He drops down to his knees on top of Otabek. "Can you braid my hair?" he asks.

Otabek sits up to come face to face with Yuri. He also doesn't care how Yuri wears his hair. It's always like a crown. "I don't know how."

"What?" Yuri is entirely disappointed and disgusted and disbelieving. He shoves at Otabek and rolls easily off him and the bed. He grabs his comb off the desk and throws it at Otabek. "C'mon, asshole. You're gonna learn."

Otabek picks up the comb and gets up while Yuri sits in the desk chair and goes on YouTube. He crooks his finger at Otabek and Otabek leans down on his shoulders to watch the video Yuri has pulled up. It doesn't seem any more complicated than tying shoelaces so Otabek's attention lags a bit and he kisses Yuri's ear, only to receive an annoyed slap to his nose.

"How'd you learn?" he asks, duly disciplined.

"My mom taught me," Yuri says. He briefly bites at his fingernail. "She had really long hair," he adds after making a decision, speaking slower and quieter, and Otabek stands up straight to pull his fingers through Yuri's hair, hoping to be comforting.

"Show me the video again," he says and Yuri holds up his phone with one hand for Otabek to attempt copying the movements.

"She used to throw up a lot," Yuri continues, hesitant as though he isn't sure it actually happened. "I don't know why. Then she'd cry on the bathroom floor and I'd braid her hair for when she got up and did it again."

Otabek combs Yuri's hair carefully. He's learned from watching Yuri that you start at the bottom of the hair and then go up, although there never seems to be any tangles or snags in Yuri's hair. It's like silk threads and Otabek bends down to sniff at it, coconut and ylang-ylang.

"That was sweet of you," he says and Yuri scoffs so hard he almost yanks his hair out of Otabek's grasp.

"Whatever," he snarls, placing his bare, bruised toes on the edge of the desk and pushing back, wedging the chair between Otabek and the desk. His phone flies in his hands, bounced back and forth restlessly. "I used to get a blanket and a pillow and sleep with her in the bathroom," he says hurriedly, words blurring together.

Otabek hopes his silence isn't the wrong choice. He strokes Yuri's hair and then slowly tilts Yuri's face up and kisses him awkwardly on the lips. Yuri is like the tide, pushing and pulling at the behest of the moon for all Otabek knows. At times vulnerable and wanting, and then invincible and self-sufficient. All of it, or none of it. Maybe, in a way, perfect for someone who's sometimes too much and sometimes not enough.

"Beka," Yuri says. "Get on with it."

Otabek completes a passable French braid after a few tries. It's a little uneven and loose, but Otabek is surprised he's managed one at all.

"Is it okay?" he asks.

"I can't see it," Yuri complains and immediately holds up his phone to use as a mirror. "It's awful," he says almost immediately and pulls the braid apart, but Otabek can hear his smile even though he can't see it. "Do it again."

"You little shit," Otabek mutters and Yuri laughs so hard the whole chair shakes, making it difficult to comb his hair out again.

When an acceptable hair compromise is achieved and Otabek has on long sleeves to hide his arms, they make it over to Otabek's parents house. They walk, because it's nice out and it's not too far, and because Otabek wants to stall as long as he can.

("Why'd you get stupid forearm zippers if you need to hide them?" Yuri had asked with frustration, and Otabek had shrugged. "I'm an idiot," he'd said, followed by Yuri's _fucking obviously_.)

Otabek keeps his uneasiness to himself when he walks Yuri into his parents' house and introduces him. He doesn't show his agitation at all when Yuri very purposefully takes his hand in full view of his parents and holds it. Yuri, who hates holding hands. Otabek thinks only his insides quake, but when Yuri drags him out of the sitting room under the guise of seeing the house he finds out he's shaking all over.

"Beka," Yuri says on the balcony. "Calm the fuck down. I can hear your bones rattling."

Otabek, holding onto the railing with both hands and trying to remember how to breathe, speak, see, and understand, nods.

Yuri, a font of practicality, says, "We haven't even eaten yet."

Otabek can feel his bones rattling, too. He's staring at the mountains. His mother wanted this house for the view. For the music room. For the light. All the things Otabek had found for himself and consequently left in London. A view of the street. The music in the walls. The lights of the club. Yuri.

Isabella said he looked troubled. He's _terrified_.

"They know why you've brought me. Let's get this over with," Yuri says with finality. Otabek reaches over to touch the sticker tiger tattoo behind Yuri's ear, pressing his thumb over it like Yuri does to him. Yuri lets him and Otabek can feel Yuri's pulse pounding under the thin layer of his skin.

At the dinner table, with his mother's hair covered under a shawl, and his father wearing a pained expression, and Otabek can't even pick up his fork. He stares dumbly at his plate, the decorated floral edges that create a kaleidoscope of colour and light, and can't remember a single word in any of the three languages he speaks.

"Where are you from, Mr Plisetsky?" Mother asks. Being exceedingly polite is their method of othering. And before Yuri has the time to reply, she goes on, "I don't think you're local. Is long hair like that customary to men where you're from?"

"What do you do for a living, Mr Plisetsky?" Father takes up the thread as Yuri opens his mouth to respond. "Are you an athlete?" Yuri's physique is hard not to notice.

"Our youngest plays football professionally," Mother fills in. "Do you also play a team sport, Mr Plisetsky?"

Otabek puts the fork he's managed to pick up back down, clattering it against the china. He nearly knocks over his glass of water, reaching for it. Yuri keeps eating steadily. Maybe he's already understood the steps to this dance.

"Or are you a musician like our eldest?" Father continues.

"Oh, that would explain the long hair," Mother says and smiles tightly. "Do you play an instrument, Mr Plisetsky? Is that how you met Otabek?"

Yuri looks up from his plate, but doesn't say anything. Otabek puts his glass down so hard it splashes. "Please," he starts, surprised at how unstable his voice is. Yuri is having seconds, and Otabek admires him more than ever.

"How long have you been acquainted with Otabek, Mr Plisetsky?" Father ignores him.

"Are you visiting Almaty for any particular reason, Mr Plisetsky?" Mother adds.

"Please," Otabek repeats, louder. His head aches. His leg aches. He can't get into another car crash, there'll be nothing left. "Why can't you just accept this?"

There is a long silence, only broken by Yuri's insistent chewing.

"What do you want us to say, Otaym?" Mother asks. "We're simply curious about your friend."

"We have the right to know with whom you spend your time," Father continues. "And we wish to know about the people we invite to our home."

Yuri's utensils screech against the plate as he cuts another tiny piece of food and delicately carries it into his mouth with his fork. "I think you're mixing up having the right and having the privilege," he says.

"Excuse me," Father says.

It is impossible that anyone would miss the look Yuri gives Otabek right then. It's slow and deliberate, but maybe only Otabek can grasp its content. Yuri lowers his pale lashes and his mouth goes slightly up at the corners. He looks so serene, under the overbearing chandelier and the twin gazes of Otabek's parents.

"Beka is my boyfriend," he says, with slight, pointed emphasis on _boyfriend_. "Do you actually want me to answer your questions or are you just being fucking impolite on purpose?"

"Mr Plisetsky," Father says, standing up.

The look Mother gives Otabek is full of blame. "This is-"

"This is what?" Yuri gets up, too. "I don't have to like you, you know. And you don't have to like me, or Beka being gay, or whatever the fuck it is you don't like about this whole thing. But you're being real assholes about it."

Father throws his napkin down. "We are hospitable people, but you've crossed the line, Mr Pli-"

"You don't have _the right_ to know anything about me or Beka," Yuri cuts him off.

Otabek has never seen his father this angry, not even when he got caught the first time. He's never seen his mother this reproachful. But he's seen Yuri do this before. Otabek's father may have taught Otabek to stare people down, but Yuri doesn't back down.

"You don't have _the right_ to control his life. Do you think you can make him break up with me?" Yuri snorts, placing his hands on the table and leaning forwards. "I'm gonna win," he almost growls, threatening. "And you two better settle the fuck down if you want _me_ to ever let him come back to this shitshow."

This is nothing they've discussed before. This is nothing short of amazing. This is Otabek staring up at the young world tree, full of awe and adoration. This is all and more he felt when Yuri guzzled down his pint of beer in one go, and when Yuri decided, beneath Viktor's party, that they were going to happen, and when he let Yuri choose a tattoo for him. Every time Yuri has lowered his lashes and looked at him in a particular way. _I should tell him I love him._

Otabek stands up. He hadn't asked Yuri to do this, but only because he didn't know how to ask, or that he could ask. He hadn't known he needed this, like he hadn't known he needed Yuri to draw his nails along the zipper tattoos and tell him he was being zipped up.

"Thanks for having us for dinner," Otabek says quietly, leaving behind a plate of untouched food. He meets his father's eyes, then his mother's. "I'm sorry I can't be the son you want me to be, but I'd rather be someone _I_ want to be." He hopes he can make it there one day. Know what he wants to be and be that.

Yuri pushes away from the table. "Don't apologise, Beka!"

"I'm sorry," Otabek says again.

"This is absurd!" Father says, in a tone of voice Otabek has never heard from him. Mother's hands are tightly wound together on the edge of the table, but she remains quiet, face ashen.

At least Otabek knows exactly what he wants out of this disappointing and unpleasant situation. He's filled with a whole burning sea and no bridges. "Yuri lives in Moscow, by the way." He's going to do what he's best at. "I'll be there with him."

Mother calls for him when they leave. _My little bear_. Yuri holds his hand until they're outside, where Otabek notices how hard Yuri is shaking.

Yuri stops over and over again on the street to rattle and rock himself, to dissipate the nerve-induced energy from his muscles. Otabek doesn't try to touch him or talk to him, mostly because he doesn't know what to say. Should he start with _thank you_ or with _that was the hottest thing I've ever seen?_ Should he say _I know it wasn't just about me?_

Yuri has stopped again, bouncing on his feet and rolling his shoulders. "So, you're coming to Moscow," he says. "I thought you were gonna _stay_."

"Ah," Otabek voices in surprise. He hadn't meant that at all when speaking about learning to stay. "I didn't mean a place." Places are, at this point, largely interchangeable to him. He'd thought staying in Almaty would mean something, a home, a reconciliation with his past, but instead it just reminds him of it.

"I meant you," Otabek adds, watching Yuri kick one foot back and forth, higher and higher, and then switch to the other.

"What?" Yuri shudders, reaching his arms up in a stretch. Otabek wants to take refuge under his canopy. It's early evening, and the sun is already below the edge of the mountain range.

"I meant I'll stay with you." Otabek doesn't hurt at all. His muscles aren't locked up. He isn't cold or hot, he just exists, for that one moment, to watch Yuri do his Russian style pirouettes on the street in Almaty, wearing sparkly shoes on his battered feet. It's all he's ever wanted and right now he's at peace with it.

"In Moscow?" Yuri asks when he's depleted some of his fury through his frenetic movement.

Otabek shrugs. "Wherever."

"Good, 'cause I wasn't gonna move here."

Otabek nods. "I know."

"But not 'cause of your family," Yuri continues, shifting his weight on his feet, to his heels, to his toes. He can't keep his head still and rolls it around, to look up, to look down. "I'm just too good to dance here."

He isn't wrong. He belongs to a top ballet company, like the Royal Ballet of London, or the Bolshoi in Moscow. Otabek wouldn't take that from him. "Any company would be lucky to have you."

"Yeah, well." Yuri's tone becomes snide and he becomes a dance of emotions instead: a smug tilt of his head, a self-satisfied twist of his waist, and a pleased repositioning of his legs, theatre and art in his contrapposto pose. "Of course they fucking would."

_Anyone would be lucky to have you_. "I can't believe you just yelled at my parents," Otabek says in admiration, both of the form in front of him and the act performed just moments ago. "I can't believe you told them you might not let me come back."

"Ha!" Yuri projects his voice across the street, as if there weren't already enough curious people watching them. Him. "Well, now I know where you get it from."

"Get what?"

"Being an asshole," Yuri snorts.

_I'm nothing like them. I'm exactly like them_.

Yuri steps closer to him, looking down at him through his lashes. "But mine now."

Otabek is a graveyard of unspoken words, all of them dying in his throat, caught in the moment, in Yuri's presence, the undeniable way Yuri has possessed him.

And then Yuuri's hypothesis of karma makes sense. How could it have been a coincidence that he met Yuri? Nothing this painful and massive and wonderful could ever be a coincidence. He's a broken mirror for Yuri's borrowed beauty. He's countless pieces that are about to undergo fusion and create a new star.

"I- Let's go for a walk?" Otabek croaks. "The President's Park isn't far."

Yuri rolls his eyes so hard it looks like his soul is leaving his body. "You say that like it should mean something to me, Beka," he says, surprisingly tame. The lines of his body and face soften and become younger, hurting for trust.

"It's just a park," Otabek says. He'll trust Yuri until Yuri can trust him again. "Do you want to talk now?"

"Yeah. Yeah, we should," Yuri agrees, falling in step with Otabek.

Neither of them speak for a good five minutes after that. They make it to the park, and it's nice, and Otabek hardly sees it. The mountaintops are shadows against the bright sky, and the lights are coming on. They weave through the columns of the portico and walk past the musical fountain which is quiet, and continue past the flower beds towards the northern end of the park. Should he wait for Yuri to start?

Instead. "You never took me out for that pint," Otabek says.

It's the right choice if Yuri's amused snort is anything to go by. "That's 'cause I fucking hate beer."

"But," Otabek stops and holds out his hand to Yuri's elbow to stop him, too. "Then why'd you drink mine?" _In one go. Standing so close to me I could see the drop that spilled from the side of your mouth. So I could see your throat working as you swallowed._

Yuri swivels his head and his shoulders and sort of shrugs. "Wanted your attention."

Otabek still has his hand on Yuri's elbow as he fathoms Yuri's words. "Did you think," he starts, incredulity bubbling in his mind like carbonation, "that you _didn't_ have my attention before that?"

"Is this what you want to talk about?" Yuri knocks his hand away.

"Well, yeah," Otabek says and catches him again, like a butterfly, between his hands. There's enough trees and flowers around them to fill the air with freshness and screen them from immediate viewing. "Do you think that people don't just pay attention to you, everywhere?"

"That's creepy," Yuri says, but allows Otabek's hands to reel him in closer. "So I had yours, huh?"

"Ever since you sat on my bike behind the art gallery," Otabek admits.

"But you didn't want it." Yuri keeps looking away, even if Otabek's mouth is almost touching his ear.

"I thought you were going to be so much trouble," Otabek murmurs.

"Hey, fuck you," Yuri says and tilts his head away. " _I'm_ trouble? You're the one who-" He inhales sharply, and Otabek hopes it's because he's kissed the side of his neck. It's different outside. "You made all the trouble," Yuri finishes.

Otabek nods in acceptance of that burden.

"So why'd you dump me?" Yuri asks, all bluster, maybe forgetting that Otabek has a hand on both his abdomen and the small of his back, and he can feel all the muscles go rigid when Yuri speaks, craning his neck to look in the opposite direction.

Otabek stares at his ear, the pale strands of hair pushed behind it, but still falling all about. Yuri's pulse is visible on his neck, making his skin look like it's only a thin film over a bunch of overly excited motor functions. "I-"

"Yeah, yeah, you had no choice," Yuri stops him short. "You were leaving, whatever, couldn't give me what I wanted."

"I don't think I can ever answer that in a way that'll satisfy you," Otabek realises, but his hold isn't tight enough to keep Yuri there if he doesn't want to be there. _I'm just left-over pieces hot-glued and duct-taped in the shape of a person. But maybe that's what you think you are, too, and not a complex human being, sharp and singular, left wanting._

"Try!" Yuri barks, but leans his shoulder into Otabek's chest.

Otabek can't say no to this creature of the spring. "It wasn't because I stopped wanting you," he says slowly, trying to spin words from the wool of his thoughts, and to find an answer for Yuri's uncertainty. "I thought I deserved the pain of not having you."

Yuri listens, eyes trained towards the horizon. "Selfish!" he mutters impatiently and clearly expects more.

Otabek is only halfway out of the swamp, and looking back at where he was makes the ground under his feet shift unpleasantly. "I _am_ selfish," he replies, now linking his fingers over Yuri's hip, to keep him close. "I should've ended it sooner, but I just wanted to have you as long as I could. And I thought it would end anyway, when you realised what a mess I am."

Yuri makes another impatient noise. "I always knew that," he argues. "You were such a huge fucking mess, Beka!" He eyes Otabek with a curled lip.

"And I still am," Otabek says. "I have no guarantees it won't go even worse this time. I still think you're too good for me. I can't believe you came here to be with me, or that you're letting me hold you in public, after yelling at my parents, like you actually _want_ me."

This bemuses Yuri enough for him to relax, turning fully to face Otabek, resting his arms over Otabek's shoulders. "Huh," he says, face slack in surprise and bewilderment.

"You're something so amazing," Otabek says, fully realising how ridiculously overblown his estimation of Yuri is. This fighty-flighty, irritable fucking _child_ , who pouts and cajoles and yells and insults, and draws him in like a floodlight.

Yuri's face twitches, and he tilts his head back and laughs. The force of it thrums against Otabek's chest as Yuri pulls him into a hug, muffling himself into Otabek's shoulder. The laughter is almost uncomfortable in its intensity and pitch, and Otabek strokes Yuri's shaking back. Yuri doesn't laugh because Otabek is particularly funny, he laughs because it's another form of release.

He knows before it happens, when Yuri pulls back, bright and pink-faced, and says, "I want a tattoo."

Otabek feels flush with heat, so full he can perceive the tips of his fingers and his toes, the scratch of denim on his skin, Yuri's heart beating so fast it makes his own jump in response. "Anything," he says.


	9. Chapter 9

The sound and feel of bone scraping against metal wakes Otabek. A breath of wind across his sweaty skin makes him shiver with unexpected cold, but it takes him a disoriented second to realise it's because the window is wide open. And Yuri is sitting by it, one elbow on the windowsill and chin in hand.

The light from the nanoleaf gives Yuri a red outline on one side and a cool blue one on the other. His eyes are barely open, but he's not sleepy, or even calm, just detached. Otabek sits up and rubs his face and his arms, trying to dispel the cold and the nightmare, and Yuri hardly reacts. He blinks slowly when Otabek touches his back.

"Yura," Otabek says. Yuri's skin is cold, too. The blanket barely covers his naked lap.

Yuri blinks again and struggles to open his eyes as if his lashes are sticking together. "You're a noisy sleeper," he says. It's not an admonishment, but Otabek feels guilty anyway.

"I woke you?" he asks and moves a little closer, trying to move the blanket so it covers more of Yuri.

Yuri shrugs, eyes trained towards the far horizon, where the mountains are barely discernible against the dark sky. "Sounded like a nightmare," he comments around the pinky finger he's chewing on.

Otabek nods although Yuri isn't looking. "Can't sleep?" he questions instead, but Yuri only shrugs again.

"I miss my family," Yuri says although there's little feeling to his voice or demeanour. Otabek can't fathom a single emotion from his blank face. "Grandpa and Potya, I mean. Not the idiots."

Otabek places his arm around Yuri's cold and tense shoulders, ready to withdraw at the slightest sign of rejection, but none comes. Nothing comes. Yuri remains almost unmoving, blinking slowly, gnashing his finger between his teeth. The tattoo on his wrist is still scabbing over, having been placed there just hours before, after they'd left the dinner.

Otabek says nothing, but watches the night sky with him, until Yuri's breath and blinking become erratic and two fat tears drop down his cheeks. He makes the tiniest sniffle while Otabek remains useless at his side, unable to comfort him.

"Ugh," Yuri says. "I'm done." He presses the palms of his hands against his eyes and rubs. "So were you really serious about Moscow?"

"Mm." Otabek nods. Not surprised that Yuri doesn't trust him.

"'Cause I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to stay with your family."

"If it wasn't for you, I'd go with Nura," Otabek says. Leaving, again, to escape his problems. And it's always been to replace current problems with new ones, which he then needs to escape as well. By leaving.

Yuri tilts his head against Otabek's shoulder and scowls. "So much for caring about your family."

"I care," Otabek says, bringing his hand up to stroke Yuri's temple, to brush his hair behind his ear. "But with my mother and father, I think I prefer to care from a distance." Less of a chance of a catastrophic fuck-up that way.

"God, you're an asshole," Yuri sighs. His cheek is just a little bit damp against Otabek's shoulder, while the rest of the side pressed into Otabek is growing warmer. "It doesn't have to be Moscow, you know. It isn't home. If your brother's going some place that has a decent ballet company, I don't mind if-"

"What?" Otabek interrupts him, pulling away so he can see Yuri's face. His actual expression which is thoughtful and plaintive, and tinged with decisiveness. The nanoleaf gives Yuri a crown of shifting colours.

" _What,_ " Yuri repeats, screwing up his face obnoxiously.

"Paris," Otabek breathes, managing no potent sound with how tightly excitement and fear grip him. "Nura's new club is in Paris."

"I can do Paris." Yuri's voice is soft. "Paris Opera Ballet's pretty decent."

Otabek's hands tremble on Yuri's skin. He struggles to fill his lungs with enough air to keep breathing. It's another thing he didn't know was possible, and didn't know he could have. And now he doesn't want to be without it.

Yuri makes a wet sound and rubs his nose. "Can we go to the lake now?"

"Yeah," Otabek says. They have the bike. He knows the way. It doesn't matter that it's not even morning yet.

Yuri closes the window.

They get dressed quietly, without the comfort of being flirtatious, and they leave the flat quietly, until the engine of the bike comes on. Otabek takes comfort in the oscillation of the combustion engine, even if the frequency of it isn't what he's used to. There's less power, but he'd picked this bike especially because of that. Yuri makes no fuss about the helmet and is almost unmoving against Otabek as they start off, pressed heavily into his back.

Through the city and the lights that are streaks of light through the visor of his helmet, something grows at the base of Otabek's spine. Not pain, like he first assumes, but extraordinary realisation. He has spent so much time thinking he doesn't and can't understand Yuri. Thinking he doesn't know what to give him, or how to help him because he can't help himself.

He's expected Yuri to take him to where there's music and laughter, all the while Yuri has been starving for the same. Flaunting his love bruises because they give him a sense of belonging. Because there aren't enough people in his life so he could have rejected Otabek when he should have.

The hum of the bike and the air around them becomes music with the beat of each vertebrae in Otabek's spine, clear and ascending as they hit the road winding up the mountain when gold and rose glow around the peaks. _It's nice if Yuri inspires you to heal, but I wish you'd do it for your own sake,_ Isabella had said. But if Yuri needs love, people, and food, Otabek needs Yuri. Not because Yuri makes him better, but because Otabek can't find anything worth fighting for in himself.

Still, there's music in his spine. It builds up to the base of his skull during the ride, waiting for the drop. He doesn't know how to give Yuri what he wants, but he does understand now. He'll figure out the giving part with the time Yuri has given him.

It takes only a little over an hour to drive up to the lake, and only because Otabek goes slowly. Even slower when he feels Yuri start shivering in the crisper and cooler morning air of the mountains. He parks the bike on the road above the lake and they watch the sun rise above the milky blue water, bright and almost turquoise under the light.

They lean on the bike and Otabek rubs Yuri's hands between his to warm up his fingers. He uncovers the fresh tattoo and strokes it carefully while Yuri looks across the water and the snow-capped peaks.

"Guess we make a pair now." Otabek pulls up the sleeve of his leather jacket as much as he can and holds his arm next to Yuri's, to show the zipper.

Yuri's version has just the puller, the zipper tab, rendered in simple black lines without colouring in the parts. "Huh," Yuri says, looking down at their arms, side by side. "Guess we do."

A sense of belonging. Precious scars created by a needle and ink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading all these words!


End file.
